


spit the dark

by liketheroad



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bonding, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn’t save you, Steve,” Bucky grinds out, self-directed fury clipping his words sharply. “I fucking <i>turned</i> you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	spit the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Aka the one where Steve and Bucky are pissed off teenage werewolves.
> 
> With endless/eternal thanks to Megan and Lu for their work with me on this story and their ongoing support for my love of werewolves.

Steve opens his eyes.

Bucky is crouched above him, wide, wild looking eyes fixed on Steve.

His mouth is covered with blood.

Steve tries to lift his head from the cold floor where he finds himself, but he can’t.

He aches all over, can’t move at all.

He tries to smile up at Bucky, but even that proves too difficult.

Bucky makes a choked, wrenching sound in response, his hands spasming out like he’s going to touch Steve, but he stops himself with a fraction of an inch left between them.

Steve tries again to smile, but he passes out instead.

***

The next time Steve wakes up, it’s day. Bright light fills the room they’re in, one Steve doesn’t recognize.

Bucky is still with him, hunched on his knees in the furthest corner of the room, watching Steve. Steve can feel Bucky’s eyes on him like a solid, reassuring weight, and this time, he’s able to smile _and_ lift his head.

Bucky rushes him, and almost before Steve can process it, Bucky’s lifting Steve off the floor and onto his lap.

Steve’s naked, he realizes in a dim, hazy way, unconcerned. He clutches onto Bucky, left hand attaching itself to Bucky’s neck and right arm wrapping around Bucky’s waist. Bucky’s arms come to encircle him automatically, and Steve presses his nose into Bucky’s throat.

He smells _amazing_. Like home and heat buried under surface notes of wood smoke and brown sugar.

Steve’s mouth starts to water, and he whines, unbidden and desperate.

Bucky soothes him with low, encouraging noises that thrum from the back of his throat, vibrating against Steve as he noses in deeper, drowning in Bucky’s heady scent. Bucky’s hands run up and down Steve’s bare back, and he lifts his chin, making it easier for Steve to tuck in against him and breathe Bucky in greedily.

“You can use your teeth, Stevie, it’s okay,” Bucky is saying, his voice a soft murmur in Steve’s ear.

He doesn’t understand - what Bucky’s offering him makes no _sense_ \- but Steve wants it.

He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.

Steve lets his instincts guide him, new and powerful ones he’s too overcome by to control. He has Bucky’s permission, and that’s all that seems to matter - that, and the need that has gripped Steve tighter than anything he’s experience before.

Without hesitation or shame, Steve sinks teeth into Bucky’s pale, inviting flesh, and deep inside him, something starts to howl.

***

Steve wakes up a third time, and it’s night again.

He’s not on the floor anymore. Instead, he’s lying down on a bed that seems far too small. His eyes are open but it’s dark in the room, and he can’t make out much of anything. He can’t see Bucky, but he can feel him.

He can smell him, too. It’s even better than it was before, stronger and more intoxicating. With every breath, Bucky’s scent is filling Steve up, making him feel grounded and peaceful and pleased. Bucky’s here and he smells like cinnamon and like _Steve_ , new layers of apple and citrus combining with Bucky’s own already dizzying aroma.

Steve whines, high and wanting from the back of his throat, and then sits up with a start, surprised by the sound that just came out of him.

When he’s upright, Steve registers more surprises. He solves the mystery of why the bed he’s in feels so small, for one. It’s not the bed’s fault - it’s Steve’s. He looks down at himself, eyes adjusting to the dark until he barely notices it anymore, but doesn’t recognize what he sees.

Gone are the frail, sickly limbs, the slightly caved in looking chest, the thin, delicate fingers of his once-small his hands. He’s big - suddenly and completely. Everywhere.

Steve stares and stares, trying to make sense of it, but he can’t. He wonders why he didn’t notice before, and quickly realizes it just didn’t matter at the time. Other things took precedence.

Still do.

Bucky’s near, but he could be closer. Steve wants him closer. Needs him to be.

He gets out of bed, and almost falls over. He doesn’t know how to move anymore, can’t deal with the extra weight and the half dozen inches he seems to have gained.

Steve stumbles in the dark, and Bucky is there to catch him.

Steve feels better instantly, moaning in gratitude the second Bucky’s hands are on him, and together they make it back to the bed without falling. Bucky helps Steve get settled before crawling in beside him, and they lie on their sides facing each other, almost no space between them.

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s waist, fingers playing idly with the elastic of his boxers. They’re the only clothes Bucky’s wearing, but it still feels like too much.

He leans over, mouth against Bucky’s exposed shoulder, and Bucky responds to Steve’s unhappy nip with a breathy little laugh, sincere but frayed around the edges. Steve snuggles closer, hoping it’ll make Bucky feel better. It’s very important for Bucky to feel happy and safe. Steve needs to be able to give Bucky those things like Bucky does for him.

Steve moves even closer, not sure why, but convinced it’s what needs to happen. He buries his face into Bucky’s neck and his mouth finds the bite he put there earlier, tonguing at it hopefully. Bucky shudders a little under his ministrations, and Steve takes that for encouragement, licking and sucking at Bucky’s neck, feeling progressively better the more he laves at Bucky’s throat.

He’s getting hard, but he barely notices, certainly doesn’t care. Isn’t self-conscious or ashamed. In fact, it feels right and appropriate, getting hard like this for Bucky, and he wants Bucky to know, angling himself so his cock can grind against Bucky’s thigh as Steve continues to suck down on the bite mark he gave Bucky, tracing the impression his teeth left behind on Bucky’s skin.

Bucky’s not trying to stop him, and that’s good, because Steve isn’t sure he’d be able to. He feels drunk, but vividly aware of what he’s doing at the same time. He wants Bucky, always has, he just doesn’t know _why_ this feels so necessary all of a sudden, so natural and needed. He keeps going anyway, stripping Bucky’s boxers away and listening to what his body and the choked, desperate gasps Bucky’s making are telling him.

Steve finds himself on top of Bucky, lining up their cocks and moving their bodies together as one, Bucky’s hips canting to meet Steve’s, mirroring whatever Steve does, instinctively following his lead. They come at the same time, and Steve never stops sucking and biting down on Bucky’s neck. Steve’s own orgasm is almost incidental, despite it being the best one he’s ever had.

He’s more focused on Bucky, the way his throat arches back, offering more of himself up to Steve as he comes, shaking apart beneath Steve with sharp, keening cries. When Bucky finally stills underneath him, Steve acts on instinct again, drawing up enough that he can survey the damage before slowly and methodically licking Bucky clean. Most of his own come landed on Bucky and vice versa, but Steve is less sentimental about cleaning himself off, quick and businesslike about it, preferring to keep most of his attention fixed on Bucky.

Bucky just lies there, staring up at Steve and letting him do all the work, at least until Steve is done wiping himself down and has come back to lie beside him again. Back on their sides, they stare at each other openly, and Steve smiles under his touch when Bucky licks his thumb and reaches out, wiping what turns out to be dried blood from Steve’s lips.

Steve lets Bucky finish before capturing his wrist in his mouth, sucking on it with the same instinctive pull he applied to Bucky’s neck earlier. He wants to bite, but he isn’t sure why, and this time that seems like enough reason not to. Instead, Steve reluctantly pulls his mouth from Bucky’s pulse, parting with a kiss to console them both about the loss of contact.

Bucky accepts this like he has everything else, pliant and agreeable under Steve’s touch. Steve kisses him on the mouth, out of order but necessary now like it never felt like it was before, and Bucky sighs into the kiss, their tongues meeting lazily as Steve presses him down against the mattress.

Everything feels lax and unhurried between them now, and they kiss like they’ve been doing it their whole lives, like it’s all they’ve ever known or will have to do again. Steve doesn’t think about the fact that they’ve never done this before, or about any of the reasons that have stopped him in the past from trying to kiss Bucky, despite a lifetime of wanting to.

All he can think about is Bucky, how good he smells and how gorgeous he sounds, licking and moaning into Steve’s mouth. They keep kissing so long they fall asleep with their mouths still overlapping, and the last thought Steve has before he loses consciousness is that this is _right_ , the two of them together like this, because Bucky is his.

***

The fourth time Steve wakes up, Bucky is dressed and standing over him at the side of the bed. Despite just waking, Steve feels clearheaded and alert.

Something feels wrong, the air around them charged unpleasantly.

Steve inhales deeply, and almost wretches. Whatever’s wrong is coming from Bucky - he smells scared, tacky and bitter where Steve remembers sweetness and mouthwatering spice.

Bucky’s hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white, and before Steve can say anything, he blurts, “I’m so fucking sorry, Steve.”

Steve sits up, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. He blinks a few times and looks back up at Bucky.

“What happened?”

Bucky laughs, choppy and bordering on hysterical. “A lot of things.”

Steve inclines his head, worried but mostly not, somehow sure everything will be alright, despite how Bucky’s acting. He’s upset, clearly, but Steve is confident that together they’ll be able to make it right.

“Which ones are you apologizing for?” he asks, almost smiling.

Bucky laughs again, sounding a little bit more like himself. “Whichever ones still hurt.”

Steve smiles for real this time, and opens up his arms. “I feel great, Buck. Never better.”

This doesn’t have the desire effect on Bucky at all, makes him retreat back into himself instead, walls up and arms wrapping around his chest. His face is guilty and drawn.

“I had to,” he says, not looking at Steve, chin tucked down against his own collarbone.

“Buck?” Steve asks softly, hand outstretched toward Bucky but not quite touching him, not unless Bucky wants.

He does, taking Steve up on his offer and then some, getting back into bed and plastering himself against Steve’s naked chest in a flash.

“You were gonna _die_ ,” Bucky says then, harsh and accusatory.

Steve doesn’t know what he’s talking about, can’t remember, but he strokes Bucky’s back soothingly anyway, placing light, apologetic kisses against his shoulders and the sides of Bucky’s face.

“I had to,” Bucky repeats, clutching onto Steve like a lifeline.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve promises, capturing Bucky’s mouth and kissing him again. “I’m here, I’m fine.” He doesn’t know how, but it must be true, so when Bucky doesn’t calm at his words, Steve adds, “You saved me,” and then just holds on tighter when Bucky starts to cry.

***

Once Bucky finally tires himself out, he retreats from Steve’s arms until he’s backed himself up against the wall. Then he starts talking. His explanation is rambling and erratic, filled with repetition and aborted half-sentences, but eventually, Steve is able to gather that Bucky is apologizing for roughly three things:

First, for not getting to Steve in time to stop him from starting a fight with Brock Rumlow and his townie thugs, which ultimately left Steve half dead and bleeding on the forest floor.

Second, for biting Steve instead of letting him die.

Finally, and perhaps most of all, for letting Steve bite and mark him - two traditional courtship practices, apparently, serving as a precursor for bonding - without his informed consent.

Bucky looks like he has a lot more to say about that last one, but Steve cuts him off with a chuckle and a rueful, “Think that part was a lot more my fault than yours, Buck.” He might have been pretty out of it, but Steve doesn’t regret any of what happened between them. At least not unless Bucky does.

Bucky glares at him from across the bed, looking furious and afraid, but not of Steve. “Were you even listening to me, Steve? I’m a fucking--”

“Werewolf, yeah, I got that, Buck. Me too now, right?”

Bucky nods, wary and small. “Because of--”

“Because of my big dumb mouth, mostly, sounds like,” Steve interrupts, chuckling again. “Going after Rumlow alone would have been idiotic enough, but taking on him _and_ his crew? Jesus. What was I thinking?” Steve’s gotten into some stupid shit in the past, has had his reckless moments more often than most, but even for him, this is impressive.

Bucky frowns. “I don’t know,” he answers, sounding accusatory again. But the guilt is there too, stronger than the reproach in his voice, and Steve thinks he knows why.

It’s been a difficult summer for them, coldness and distance settling into their friendship in a way that it never has before. Bucky started avoiding him not long after school ended for the last time, something Steve had never experienced and didn’t at all know how to handle. For weeks in the early summer Steve just let Bucky stay away, hoping that whatever was wrong would eventually right itself, and then Bucky would come back to him.

He did, eventually, but it hadn’t felt quite the same. Bucky was jumpy and awkward around him, aloof and distracted one minute, needy and demanding the next, full of high energy and fleeting, unconscious seeming touches. He still kept disappearing, too. Not as bad as he’d been earlier in the summer, but every so often, Bucky would stop taking his calls or responding to his texts, missing for a night or two and then coming back holding himself carefully and never quite meeting Steve’s eyes.

Steve had started going looking for him whenever he went missing after that, and he found Bucky with Rumlow and his cronies more than once. The night Steve had followed them into the woods, Bucky hadn’t been there, but Steve’d seen them all together earlier that evening in the parking lot of the town’s most disreputable bar. It hadn’t been the location that upset Steve, he can remember that much now, if he really tries. It’d been simpler and worse than that - just seeing Rumlow’s hands on Bucky, holding him by the scruff of the neck, had been enough to make Steve’s blood boil.

He can’t remember anything else from that night - just the image of Rumlow touching Bucky and the all-encompassing need to make sure it never happened again. Everything after that is blank, and Steve decides he probably prefers it that way. Or he would, if it didn’t mean he has no memory of Bucky biting him.

Steve’s quiet for a long time, thinking, remembering what he can, and Bucky gets restless and worried, shifting nervously and saying, “I’m sorry,” again.

“Don’t be,” Steve says, shaking his head and wishing Bucky would come closer. “If anything, I should be thanking you. From the sounds of it, I would have gotten myself killed if you hadn’t stepped in and saved my ass like you always do.”

“I didn’t save you, Steve,” Bucky grinds out, self-directed fury clipping his words sharply. “I fucking _turned_ you.”

“And if you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t even be here,” Steve says with a shrug. “Seems worth a thank you to me.”

Bucky stares at him incredulously for a few second before burying his face in his hands. His shoulders start to shake, and Steve has to inhale deeply, gauging Bucky’s mood along with his scent to determine that he’s laughing, not crying.

“You’re a fucking punk, Steve,” Bucky says between hiccuping laughter, eyes damp at the corners but smelling like sweetness and Steve again, no burnt edges making Steve’s nostrils curl unpleasantly like before. 

Steve draws Bucky in with both hands, pulling Bucky onto his lap and liking how well he fits there now, sitting comfortably across Steve’s suddenly large and muscular thighs. Bucky makes a few grumbling, insincere sounding protests before letting his head fall against Steve’s shoulder with a peaceful sigh.

Steve smiles, and kisses Bucky’s neck. “Tell me more about bonding.”

Bucky huffs affectionately. “Of course you’d focus in on that.”

Steve smiles against Bucky’s skin, not bothering to deny it. He did ask, after all.

Bucky twists his hands in his lap, withdrawing from Steve a little so they’re facing each other, and says, “It’s not - it’s not permanent, yet. We haven’t actually - we’ve just marked each other, so far. Rutting doesn’t count as - you have to actually fuck for it to take. Even then, if the knot doesn’t hold, it won’t work, but if it does...” He shrugs. “If it does, then I’m yours, always.”

Steve feels the words like an electric current running through his entire body, leaving his back ramrod straight, cock hardening between his legs.

“I can do that?” he half gasps. “Knot you?”

“Well,” Bucky says, waving a hand and missing Steve’s point entirely. “You’re an alpha.”

Steve was asking for permission, not clarification, but he supposes that a little more information would be helpful before they get too ahead of themselves. Any more than they already are, at least.

“I am?” Steve says thoughtfully, testing the idea out in his head. “Is that why I look so different now?”

Bucky nods, not quite looking at him. “Yeah, it’s... the transformation changes us inside and out, affecting us whether we’ve shifted into our wolfskins or not. I’m an omega, not like you, so it was a lot different with me. I didn’t get bigger, just...” He shrugs again, glancing down at himself unhappily. “It’s mostly good for sex stuff, the changes,” he mumbles, embarrassed now on top of whatever other dissatisfaction Bucky is letting show.

Steve doesn’t like any part of what he’s seeing now, what he’s smelling. Bucky’s whole body is tense, face pinched miserably. There’s hurt and shame and desolation infecting Bucky’s scent like poison, and Steve feels sick from it. He also feels more viciously protective than he can remember being in his entire life. Whoever hurt Bucky, whoever made him feel this way or had any miniscule part in it is going to pay. Steve will make sure of that.

“What happened to you, Buck?” Steve asks, holding onto him firmly and speaking as gently as he can. “How’d you get to be like this?” He and Bucky have been best friends since preschool, and there’s no way he’s been hiding the fact that he’s a werewolf from Steve this whole time.

He means the question to encompass the hurt as well as the hard cold facts, but Bucky answers more narrowly, saying only, “It was Rumlow who,” he pauses, clenching his jaw. “He bit me, turned me. Day after graduation.”

Steve sees red, and has no control over the wounded howl that is ripped out of him. He tightens his hold on Bucky, wrapping his whole body around him and scenting him almost without realizing that’s what he’s doing.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky says for a third time, and even though it’s still not his fault - could never be his fault - this is an apology Steve is almost ready to accept.

So far, at least, it’s the only part of this Steve sees any cause to regret.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, to both of them. Reassurance desperately needed, gratefully heard. “You’re mine, now, right? Or you will be, if I knot you?”

Bucky nods, rubbing his face and wrists against Steve, writhing a little in his lap as he struggles to touch Steve everywhere, soothing them both.

“And you turned me,” Steve adds, thinking it over more, focusing on that bit of good news. “So we’re already pack, right?”

Bucky nods again, eyes closed now as he ruts against Steve, his cock hardening in his jeans as he rubs their bodies together. Steve kisses Bucky’s cheekbones and hates himself for having to follow that up with firm hands against Bucky’s shoulders, pushing him back and holding him away from Steve long enough for Bucky’s head to clear a little, his movements stilling.

Steve wants to knot Bucky right fucking now and cement their bond before anything else, but he’s in control of himself enough to know that’s not a good idea. They have to talk first, figure things out, settle some truths between them. Steve isn’t sure what’s all been done to Bucky since he was turned, is certain only that he isn’t going to like any of it, but equally sure that he needs to know all of it.

There are other practical matters that need to be discussed as well. The first that comes to mind is, “Where are we?”

He looks around them, this room they’ve been in the past few days, and still doesn’t recognize a thing, can’t even guess their location from looking out the single window. All he sees are trees, but that could mean almost anything.

“Old hunter’s cabin,” Bucky says, chewing on his bottom lip absently. “Few miles out from where I found you. It’s abandoned, though, and private too, don’t worry. No one’s gonna find us here. I made sure.”

Steve doesn’t know how exactly he did that, but he trusts Bucky. If Bucky says he took care of it, he did. They’re safe here if Bucky says they are.

Steve nods, and leans over to kiss Bucky’s forehead to make sure he knows Steve is grateful, and proud of him. Bucky is doing so well. His cock has gone soft but he doesn’t seem so upset anymore, not frantic and needy like he’d been only a few moments before.

“What did you tell my mom?” Steve asks next, because that’s important too.

Best as he can tell, they’ve been here at least three days, maybe four. Steve’s mom is a nurse, and she works long, demanding shifts. Sometimes they miss each other, and Steve’s gotten good at looking after himself, but even she will have noticed he’s missing by now.

“Camping trip,” Bucky answers promptly, almost smiling. He’s been trying to drag Steve out camping almost the entire time they’ve been friends. Steve’s almost surprised his mom believed it, but Bucky can be extremely convincing when he wants to be.

“Do we have food?” Steve asks, once he’s nodded and smirked a little at Bucky’s other answer. “Supplies?” He thinks about it. “I could use a bathroom.”

And some clothes, he realizes, looking down at himself, this body he barely recognizes but has somehow become his own. 

“Pants?” he asks, looking up at Bucky hopefully.

Bucky laughs a little, climbing all the way off of Steve and saying, “Yeah, I got some stuff that might work,” he nods in the direction of the front door. “Backpack over there, take whatever fits.”

Steve nods gratefully and starts digging through the backpack a few seconds later, pulling out some of Bucky’s old gym shorts and a loose tank top, or what would be loose on Bucky, anyway. On Steve, the fabric stretches obscenely, far too small and tight, but it’ll just have to do.

Bucky seems to like the view, anyway, averting his gaze with what appears to be a great amount of difficulty before saying, “Bathroom’s an outhouse that’s seen better days, but it beats squatting in the woods, I guess. There’s a well, so we’re set for water, but food’s a little trickier. We’ll have to go out and get that, if we’re hungry.”

The way he says it, Steve’s guessing Bucky doesn’t mean they need to pop back into town and pick up a few things from the corner store.

“Bathroom first, I think,” Steve says, and that’s exactly where he heads once Bucky’s pointed him in the right direction.

Bucky was right about the state of the outhouse, but Steve gets through it by holding his breath and pissing as quickly as he can manage. It’s not just the smell that hastens him, anyway. He doesn’t like being away from Bucky, and remedies that as soon as physically possible.

Bucky smiles at him, wide and helpless, as soon as Steve’s back inside the cabin. It’s all one big room, Steve sees, now that he’s actually paying attention. There’s a wood stove, a table and chairs, the bed, a small kitchen area, and not much else. Steve decides it doesn’t really matter, and goes back to looking at Bucky instead.

His mate, or at least he will be.

His maker, if Steve’s got the terminology right. Weres are a matter of public record and regulation, and although it’s been spotty and likely biased, all of Steve’s health education has contained brief units on werewolf physiology, while his civics classes usually mentioned at least the odd fact or two about the power structures of a pack and the basics of their bonds.

Bucky said he’s an omega, which is very rare, from everything Steve’s ever been told about the subject. Alphas are less common as well, it’s mostly betas, but there are more alphas than omegas, and while betas can mate with each other or with alphas, the strongest and most lasting bonds occur between alphas and omegas. Only alphas and omegas can reproduce were-children; the rest have to be bit.

If all that’s true, then Bucky is a valuable and vulnerable commodity. Like Bucky said, omegas get sex appeal, not strength, when they change. They smell better, their looks are typically enhanced, and according to porn, both males and females start giving off heat and producing their own lubrication during sex.

Steve breaks eye contact with Bucky to look down at his hands, bigger and stronger than he could ever have imagined, and he flexes his arms a little, testing the new power in his veins. It’s bizarre, undeniably and dizzyingly so, but Steve is grateful for this new body all the same. He will need it, in the coming days and years, to protect Bucky.

“Come here,” Steve says, when silence has stretched between them too long and Bucky has stopped looking at Steve in favor of staring down stubbornly at the floor.

Bucky does as he’s told without hesitation, and when he doesn’t seem fully at ease on his own two feet, Steve tilts his head to the side in consideration and then says, “Kneel,” half just to see what Bucky will do.

Bucky drops to his knees like a stone, and stares up at Steve with his mouth open and his pupils blown. Huh.

“Well, that worked,” Steve says, mostly to himself.

Bucky snorts, but keeps staring up at Steve with eager, unguarded compliance.

“You okay down there?” Steve asks, despite being almost entirely certain of the answer. “Comfortable?”

Bucky nods. Hs answer is automatic but his movements are slow and lazy, his whole posture submissive yet relaxed. Steve smiles.

“Think you can answer a few more questions for me now?”

Bucky nods again, and at Steve’s amused sound, he forces his eyes up and says, “Yes.”

They stay like that for what has to be hours, talking, covering a lot of ground. Bucky stays on his knees where Steve put him, but Steve moves around some, pacing during the particularly upsetting parts of Bucky’s story. Steve had most of it right. The bits about Bucky’s designation and what it means for him are more or less as Steve’s public education has suggested, and although Bucky is clearly trying to gloss over a lot, Steve also learns he was right to be angry and afraid on Bucky’s behalf.

He learns he was right to want to make Rumlow and his pack hurt for what they’ve done to Bucky. He leans he was right to want to make them pay.

Rumlow turned him, but not because Bucky asked. He bit Bucky and he fucked him, but not because Bucky wanted it. Bucky fought back as best he could against his maker and the only alpha in his pack, but the first time, he didn’t succeed. When the others tried to take their turns, he fought against them as well. Fighting back worked against the betas in his pack where it hadn’t with Rumlow himself, and Bucky assures him Rumlow only managed to overpower him the once. His eyes flick guiltily toward Steve and then away just as fast when he says it, like he somehow betrayed Steve by not being able to resist his maker on the same night as he was turned. Steve hopes the growls he’s unable to stop from making throughout most of Bucky’s story go at least part way to convincing him that Steve would never think of it like that, but he’s determined to try anything and everything he has to until something works.

The one bright spot in the whole affair is that Rumlow’s knot didn’t take, too much struggle in Bucky to accept a mating bond, and in the following weeks Bucky managed to stay away from the pack more often than not. The pack velt had been enough to draw him back to Rumlow more than once, that and the pull of the full moon. Rumlow hadn’t been particularly willing to let Bucky slip through his fingers, either, pursuing him doggedly, and everything’d come to a head that night Steve saw them together in the parking lot.

Now here they are.

Steve doesn’t know how to ask without making it sound like he’s blaming Bucky, like he’s somehow responsible for any of what happened to him, but the thing he really doesn’t understand is, “What were you doing hanging around with them in the first place? Why’d you go to the field party that night?”

It’s a post-grad tradition in their town, bonfires and underaged drinking to mark the end of another school year, but even though it’d been their turn to graduate this past June, Steve had never planned to attend the party. He hadn’t expected Bucky to, either, even though he’d been acting a little off for almost the whole school year. Steve had stayed home, hurt and confused, when Bucky announced he was going.

“Pretty stupid, right?” Bucky says, his lips twisting into a mocking smile. “I was just...” He shrugs, still kneeling at Steve’s feet. “I was being an idiot, feeling sorry for myself, I guess.”

Steve stops pacing, standing in front of Bucky and asking, “Why?”

Bucky makes a miserable, reluctant sound, and then admits, “You were leaving. You _are_ leaving. You’re going places and I’m just... not. I figured I might as well get used to it, you know? Start spending my time getting wasted with all the other losers who’re never getting out of this town. I was looking to hurt myself that night, and Rumlow was more than happy to oblige.”

“He’s going to be sorry he ever touched you,” Steve says, impressed with himself for managing to hold that in as long as he has.

Bucky tilts his chin up at Steve and bares his throat, seemingly the only response he’s capable of. Steve sinks down onto his knees in front of Bucky, and wraps Bucky in his arms. There’s another set of scarred-over teeth marks on the left side of Bucky’s throat, low enough that a shirt would normally cover it, but no less foreign and unwanted for it. Steve puts his own mouth over the bite, kissing Bucky softly and letting his own teeth graze the sensitive skin lightly.

“It wasn’t your fault, Buck,” Steve says into his neck, and Bucky presses closer, whether he believes Steve or not.

“I love you,” Steve adds, in case that wasn’t clear. They’ve never actually said it. Never touched like this, or anything close, before now. But Steve always wanted to, and now he can read Bucky well enough to know he’s wanted it at least as long, can smell the years-old longing all over him.

“You shouldn’t,” Bucky says instead of responding in kind, and to Steve, it sounds like Bucky’s begging him not to.

Tough luck, pal.

“I do,” Steve replies firmly. “I always have. That’s not going to change.”

“It should,” Bucky protests again, even as he’s clinging to Steve, arching his neck and back to meet Steve’s touch.

“It won’t,” Steve says, and then he gets up, picking Bucky up off the floor and carrying him into bed, amazed at how little effort it takes to do so.

There’s no thought in Steve’s mind about knotting Bucky now, claiming him like that, even though a deep, primal part of him wants that more than anything. Right now, Bucky is hurt and scared and uncertain, and clearly isn’t ready to trust or accept the devotion Steve is offering him freely. This is no time to stake a claim, even if it might get the job done in a blunt sort of way, leaving Bucky with no doubt about where either of them belong. Steve doesn’t want it to be like that, wants both of them to know what they’re doing and to choose it fully, so he settles for pulling Bucky onto his chest and cradling him there, arms and legs wrapped around him in bed, holding him tight and scenting Bucky over and over until Steve can’t distinguish between the two of them anymore and Bucky is fast asleep.

Steve stays awake, keeping watch and holding on. It’s somehow still restful, watching over Bucky like this, knowing that at least for now, he’s safe from harm. Steve feels his newfound alpha instincts rumbling with something close to satisfaction as he holds Bucky in his arms, and finds the rest of his peace in the vivid beginnings of his plans for revenge.

***

In the morning, Bucky is twitchy and irritable, and Steve quickly realizes it’s because he’s hungry. They both are.

Bucky smells scared as he explains the transformation process to Steve, laying out in simple terms the fact that human food isn’t going to cut it anymore, and that when they want to eat, they have to hunt. Steve’s always been a vegetarian, but this feels different, somehow. It’s not a question of animal cruelty and factory farming if they’re hunting their prey themselves, and besides, they don’t have a choice.

Steve’s enthusiasm for the hunt doesn’t seem to soothe Bucky’s nerves any, and Bucky continues to apologize for and attempt to dance around what they have to do despite Steve’s reassurances. “In town we don’t... normally we wouldn’t - but I don’t really think we’re ready to go back... and I just thought...”

“I want to,” Steve says simply, gathering Bucky’s fluttering hands in his own.

Bucky sags against him, his forehead falling against Steve’s shoulder. “You’re taking this too well,” he says quietly.

“It’s just you and me, Buck,” Steve responds, shaking his head a little. “The two of us taking on the world together, same as it ever was.”

“It’s different,” Bucky disagrees, pulling away from him.

“You really believe that?” Steve asks, stung.

Bucky scrubs the back of his neck roughly and says, “Look, Steve, the first few days of the transformation are _fucked_ okay, so much to adjust to all at once, so many changes, all the fucking pheromones jacking you up, it’s just--”

“You think the only reason I’m going along with all this is just because of the change, that I want to be with you because I don’t have a choice?” His words have lost all their heat, and to his own ears, Steve’s voice sounds small now, scared.

“I don’t know, maybe,” Bucky says first, but the words set off an immediate bitterness in his scent, and he quickly amends his statement with a steadfast, “No.”

Steve breathes a visible sigh of relief, and Bucky relaxes along with him. “Good, because this is real, okay? All of it. This is me, Bucky. Just wanting to do what you do, go where you go. Just like when we were kids.”

“We’re not kids anymore, Steve,” Bucky says, reluctant but laughing a little under his breath at the same time.

“I know,” Steve says, stepping closer to him again. “We’re all grown up, Buck. Now show me what you can do.”

Bucky maintains a doubtful stare for a few protracted seconds before he nods, curving himself more intimately against Steve and kissing him soft and slow. A nice first kiss, Steve can’t help but think. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t really true, because it still feels perfect.

Something settles inside Bucky after the kiss. He starts shucking off his clothes almost excitedly once he’s pulled away, and Steve quickly moves to do the same. The kiss was incredible, not that Steve has much to compare it to, but watching Bucky change is even more breathtaking, quite simply the strangest and most dynamic thing Steve has ever witnessed.

Transformed, Bucky’s body is big and thick, solid canine frame and sleek dark brown fur.

Shifting himself is just a matter of letting go, Bucky told him, so Steve closes his eyes and does just that, eager to be like Bucky, to run and hunt with him.

The change feels even stranger when it’s happening than it did watching it from the outside, and while that’s to be expected, it takes Steve by surprise anyway to experience the shift for the first time. He only has that human awareness for a few fleeting seconds while the transformation takes place, and by the time Steve has landed on four feet instead of two, he’s more instinct than rational thought.

His first impulse is to put his teeth to the scruff of Bucky’s neck and he follows it. Bucky whines and goes limp instantly. Steve lets him go and he immediately rolls over onto his back, exposing his belly. Steve growls with bone deep satisfaction before nipping at Bucky’s muzzle with a mix of playfulness and rough affection. Bucky lets Steve taste and smell his fill for a few minutes before nipping back lightly and then taking off into the trees in a flash.

Steve makes a sound that might be a laugh, if he was still capable of such things, and races off after him.

***

Together, they track a small herd of deer, patience and heightened intelligence allowing them to separate an adolescent buck relatively easily. Steve is the one who kills it, but they feast together, tearing into the belly with savage efficiency and gorging themselves before finally abandoning the carcass and running to the edge of the forest, shifting back into their human forms. Their clothes are still in a pile where they left them, and they get dressed silently, not looking at each other.

Bucky tries to talk to Steve a little as they walk the rest of the way back to the cabin, still clearly expecting Steve to be freaked out. He looks pretty freaked himself, spends a lot of the walk back rubbing his temples and shaking his head, but Steve feels amazing, full and powerful and proud of providing a good meal for his omega, his maker.

Bucky doesn’t seem to be picking up on any of that through his scent, so Steve just slings an arm around his shoulders and says, “Not a bad first date, by my standards,” and enjoys the way he can feel the vibrations of Bucky’s laughter against his side.

Back at the cabin with full bellies and a good night’s rest under their belts, Steve decides it’s time to start sharing his plans for Rumlow and his pack with Bucky. The way Steve sees it, there’s two main ways they can go about this: they can try to get the authorities involved, or they can take matters into their own hands. The wolf in him knows which option it prefers, but Steve is willing to do whatever Bucky wants.

At least until he finds out what Bucky apparently wants to do is _nothing_ , that is.

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go after Rumlow again, Steve, so you can just forget about that,” Bucky interrupts when Steve’s still halfway through outlining how he thinks they could lure Rumlow into the woods alone to take him out.

“I’m stronger now, Bucky, it wouldn’t be like the first time--”

“Just because you’re all hopped up on alpha pheromones that make you feel like you’ve got the biggest dick on the planet doesn’t actually mean you can take down someone like Rumlow, Steve. He was turned as an infant, spent most of his childhood in his wolfskin, not his human one. This is the only life he’s ever known, and you’re a fucking novice at this shit, barely a few days old. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Steve’s pride howls against that, but he pushes forward, trying another tack, “Well, what about the police, then, or higher up - local cops might not be able to help us, but what about the National Werewolf Registry, they have offices across the country! Surely they can--”

“Forget about it, Steve. Nobody’s gonna help us. I was drunk and looking to do something stupid. Right or wrong, you can’t actually expect people to give a shit about the fact that Rumlow took me up on it.”

“It shouldn’t matter that you were drunk,” Steve protests hotly, “and even if to some people it does, it’s still illegal to turn anyone before they’re twenty one!” He leaves silent the fact that it’s _never_ legal to force yourself on someone against their will, or to try to knot them without their consent like Rumlow did with Bucky, not sure either of them are ready to talk about that part of things yet. Especially not Bucky.

“Yeah, you gonna report me for the same thing, Steve?” Bucky says with a mean little laugh, eyes flicking to Steve’s neck as though either of them need the reminder that Bucky isn’t the only one who’s been transformed. “If you wanna take on Rumlow, then we’re gonna get dragged through the mud, too. People will blame me for what happened to both of us, you know they will.”

Steve closes his eyes, trying to work through the waves of rage that accompany the awareness that Bucky is probably right. Small town thinking combined with the general lack of respect for were rights nationwide means that the odds are stacked pretty heavily against them, even if they tried to leave the sexual assault charges out of it completely.

“We could still try,” Steve says, refusing to believe that they have to just accept this, that the system is really that broken. “We can’t just let them get away with--”

“The police aren’t going to do shit and the registry is fucking useless, Steve. Half the names on there aren’t even real, and the other half represents nothing close to how many weres there actually are. Rumlow and his pack aren’t even on there, and you’ve seen how it is with them. Everyone around town knows what they are, and they just let them do their thing because they’re all too fucking afraid not to. No one is going to lift a finger to help us, and there’s definitely not going to be any god damn justice, or whatever the hell you’re hoping for. You gotta just let it go.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Bucky,” Steve says, voice heavy with the thought of disappointing him, but equally unable to imagine giving Bucky what he wants. Not about this.

“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to,” Bucky digs in stubbornly, leaving no room for argument.

Steve grapples for some anyway, pushing out the words, “I can’t--” before Bucky cuts him off again.

“It happened to me, Steve,” he says, his tone and expression both ironclad. “If you want revenge for what they did to you in the woods, for hurting you and leaving you to die, then fine, I get it. I won’t try and stop you.” He shakes his head again, and they both know Bucky would almost certainly end up doing more than that, fighting alongside Steve despite himself. “But what they did to me, they did to me. I get to decide how to carry that, not you.”

Steve can’t argue with Bucky when he puts it like that, not now and maybe not ever. Bucky’s right, even though Steve doesn’t want him to be. He wishes it was somehow in his power to go back in time and erase the hurts and violations Bucky has suffered, but it’s not, and all he can do now is listen to what Bucky is asking for and do his best to give it.

So, instead of continuing to push back, Steve opens his arms, and considers himself lucky that Bucky is still willing to take a step forward and meet him in a painfully tight hug. They both linger in the embrace, not caring how long they hold each other, rubbing their faces into each other’s necks off and on as they do. Part of Steve still thirsts for blood and vengeance, but protecting Bucky is what really matters, and for now, Steve focuses on holding onto him tight enough that Bucky won’t ever have to worry about being let go.

***

They can’t stay in the cabin forever, they both know it. Steve’s mom will be expecting him back, and they both have lives waiting for them in town. 

It’s August, and Steve has art classes starting at NYU in just a couple weeks. Bucky’s got no family to speak of, and has been living alone in a crappy bachelor apartment above the bowling alley since he turned eighteen this past March and could finally leave the group home he hated. He has a job at the grocery store, but Steve hasn’t seen him working there all summer long, another thing he didn’t let himself think about too hard until now.

Even so, they have to go back. It’s time to face the music, and that means dealing with Steve’s mom and probably Rumlow and his pack, too. They’ve been able to hide out this long, staying under the radar, but Steve doesn’t expect they’ll remain quite that lucky. He’s trying to respect Bucky’s wishes about not going after Rumlow themselves, but that’s no guarantee he’ll return the favor. There’ll be no hiding what’s happened to Steve from his mom or anyone else, not with how the bite has transformed him, and even if Rumlow is willing to let Bucky go without a fight, he’s still likely to have a reaction to discovering there’s a new alpha in his territory.

Neither of them talk about it, but Steve knows they’re both thinking of the million ways returning to civilization might end in disaster for them, sticking extra close as they carefully pick their way along the shoulder of the highway. Even though it’s only delaying the inevitable, they’ve decided to travel back into town at night, making sure to double check that Steve’s mom is on shift that night before they go.

Steve’s truck is still where he left it at the mouth of the old abandoned logging road where he first found Rumlow and his pack. They manage to get back to it with only two close calls, and both times that turned out to be nothing. Headlights on the highway that slowed but never stopped, whether to give them trouble or offer them aid. They drive in silence, rubbing the scent glands of their left and right wrists together as Steve keeps one hand on the wheel.

Getting inside the house is the most nervewracking part of all for Steve, but it’s dark and quiet on his street, and none of his overly curious neighbors take any notice of them as they park in the driveway and slip inside. They head upstairs without needing to discuss it, relying on touch and smell to communicate, feeling out each other’s moods that way and feeding off the calm they’re both trying to project the other’s way.

Unwilling to separate, they end up crowded together in Steve’s bathroom, washing caked-on dirt and dried blood from their skin and hair. The house is otherwise empty, and Steve is struggling to adjust to how strange it feels to be home again, familiar spaces and smells suddenly barely recognizable to his newly heightened senses.

He tries to distract himself by focusing on getting clean, drying off his hair and changing into some of the new clothes he plucked from his bedroom closet. Bucky has given up on that, and instead is standing in front of the vanity half-dressed, making faces at his reflection. They’re not his usual array of charming smiles and sultry smirks, mostly pouty frowns that he adopts experimentally, widening his eyes and poking at his cheeks. He’s acting almost like he’s never seen himself before.

It makes sense when Steve actually stops what he’s doing long enough to think for a minute. Normally, you can’t drag Bucky away from a mirror to save your life, but looking back on it, Steve realizes that hasn’t been true in weeks. If anything, Bucky’s been going out of his way to avoid any and all reflective surfaces, and Steve finally understands why.

“Do you think I look any different?” Bucky asks, craning his neck and using his thumb and forefinger to tilt his face to the left and then the right in front of the mirror.

“Nope,” Steve answers, honest and automatic. Bucky is sinfully gorgeous, but there’s nothing new about that.

“Disappointed?” Bucky taunts, a sharp, sour tinge of aggression curdling the sweet edges of his scent.

There’s genuine concern underneath his heated bluster, something Steve knows Bucky well enough to pick up on even if he couldn’t smell it, too, and Steve surges forward, cupping Bucky’s face with both hands. “How could I be? You’re fucking stunning, Buck.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky sneers. “When’d you finally start noticing that, huh? Past few weeks?”

“A few weeks?” Steve scoffs in return, offended by the mere suggestion he would have only started paying attention to Bucky after the change made him more obviously appealing. He’d thought they already more or less covered this out in the woods, but he’ll offer whatever reassurance necessary for Bucky to believe him, to trust that his feelings aren’t the result of either of their transformations. “Try a few _years_ , Buck.”

Bucky glares at him, posture taught and disbelieving. Steve shakes his head, ashamed of himself for keeping his desire from Bucky for this long. It always seemed necessary at the time, but looking back on it now, he can’t believe he did this to both of them.

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen, Bucky, and that’s always been true,” Steve says, voice like steel as he sets about making this right. “My first wet dream? It was about you. First time I jerked off? I was thinking of you, your face, your hands on me. I didn’t even feel embarrassed, or freaked out that I was getting off to the thought of my best friend, nothing like that. The possibility of picturing somebody else didn’t even fucking _occur_ to me. As long as there’s been _anyone_ , it’s always been you.”

That seems to stump Bucky for awhile, but he eventually rallies with a pointed frown, tossing out the question, “Why didn’t you ever say anything, then?”

“Why didn’t you?” Steve asks right back.

Bucky struggles for a beat, clearly trying not to answer, but Steve’s his alpha now, or close to it, and he’s pretty sure that means Bucky can’t lie to him.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to, because he ends up sighing at himself a little and saying, “Because I was afraid of screwing up the longest and best friendship I’ve ever had. Besides,” he adds, speaking through his teeth, “you’re too fucking good for me, anyway.”

Steve responds with an aggressive shrug he hopes adequately expresses the sentiment, _same here, asshole_.

It’s not like he doesn’t know that they’ve _both_ been pretty stupid about all this, but of the two of them, Bucky’s always been the one with the looks and the charm, popular and sought after. He’d been on the swim team throughout high school, had a handful of girlfriends and then the odd boyfriend, too, once he came out as bi in their sophomore year. Steve’s never gone on a single date Bucky didn’t set up for him, and even those dried up after his first couple of attempts ended in public humiliation and dismal failure.

Bucky should be able to smell most of that on him, or at least get the gist of it from looking at Steve’s face, but he doesn’t react, so Steve actually _says_ , “Same here, asshole,” because it really doesn’t seem like Bucky’s getting that memo on his own.

Bucky blinks at him owlishly, still not really getting it, and then says, “Steve, you’re the one who - you’re the _good_ one. You’ve always been the one with talent, the one who’s actually going places, why the fuck--”

“That’s another thing!” Steve interrupts loudly, sidetracked by the reminder that there’s actually something more upsetting about all this than the suggestion he could never want Bucky in the first place. “How could you think I’d ever leave without taking you with me?”

“Take me with you?” Bucky snaps, shoving at Steve a little in the cramped space. “Well sure, now you’re stuck with me, so you’ll have to.”

“Not just now! Not because of what happened, _always_ , Bucky. I‘ve always wanted you to come with me.”

“Yeah right,” Bucky says, bitter and disbelieving.

Steve only half contains his growl of frustration. “Come on, Buck. This is hardly new information - we’ve been talking about moving to New York together since we were in the third grade!”

“That was just kid stuff, Steve,” Bucky says, shaking his head almost pityingly. He smells like burnt sugar and cold.

“It was real to me, Buck,” Steve says softly, trying to stave off the heartbreak that accompanies the realization it had never felt that way to Bucky. “Still is. I would never... I’ve been trying to talk to you about it all year, but you always got so weird and closed off about it that I was starting to think you just didn’t _want_ to come with me anymore. Doesn’t mean I was going to give up, though, or that me and you getting out of here together hasn’t always been the plan.”

Instead of looking reassured or pleased, Bucky tenses even more, face darkening and turning away from Steve as he says, “You’ve gotta stop letting this piece of crap town trick you into thinking I’m something special, Steve. It’s only going to hold you back, especially out in the real world.”

“Buck--” Steve starts, panicking a little at how against the idea of leaving with him Bucky still seems to be, but he waves Steve’s concern off with a dismissive hand.

“I’m coming with you now, obviously,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “I made you. I don’t think I could let you go alone even if I wanted to, but don’t go acting like I’m the one doing you a favor when we both know that’s not true.”

The self-deprecation in his voice is casual and straightforward, like Bucky doesn’t even mind about what he’s saying, just accepts it and clearly expects Steve will too, or at least thinks he should.

Steve feels a fierce protectiveness start to bubble up in his chest, and he lets instinct take over again, gripping Bucky by the base of his throat with one hand, pressing his thumb down against the bite mark he left there. Steve makes sure Bucky’s meeting his eyes, paying attention when Steve says, “You’re mine, Buck. And even if we weren’t... like this, you’re still my best friend, and you deserve to be. I don’t want to hear you talking about yourself like that again.”

He adds more pressure to the bite to punctuate his command, and Bucky shudders under his touch, eyes fluttering half closed, head falling back. “Fuck, Steve,” he breathes.

“Is this a you thing, or an omega thing?” Steve asks, helplessly curious and drawn in by Bucky’s reaction. He backs Bucky up against the sink, continuing to rub his thumb over the teeth marks he left behind. He hopes they’ll leave a scar.

“Both,” Bucky says, leaning into Steve’s touch. His eyes are open again, flicking back and forth between Steve’s chest and the floor, like he can’t decide whether he wants to drop to his knees at Steve’s feet or climb him like a tree.

The indecision paralyzes Bucky, and he just keeps licking his lips and looking back and forth, so Steve decides for him, picking Bucky up and carrying him out of the room. Bucky accepts this gracefully, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and kissing his neck as they go.

Steve deposits Bucky on his back, legs splayed out and head thrown back on Steve’s pillow. He cages Bucky in with his thighs and leans over him, claiming Bucky’s mouth again and again, only tearing himself away from Bucky’s lips long enough to lay more bite marks against his neck, salving at the ones he’s already left behind. It’s fucking glorious, need and want bleeding together, dizzying and perfect, and unlike the first time they touched like this, Steve’s actually aware enough to properly enjoy it, to fully appreciate that this is him and Bucky, together like they were always meant to be.

Steve’s still listening to the alpha instincts pulsing through him, wants to bite and mark and mate with Bucky, to finish what they started before, and at first it seems like he and Bucky are on the same page about that, writhing together and clumsily trying to rid themselves of their clothes, but once Steve’s actually got Bucky naked and hard beneath him, he starts making these little gasping sounds of protest into Steve’s mouth, eventually managing to get out the words, “Wait, wait,” after a few unsuccessful tries.

Steve listens - he’s not too far gone for that - but he does pull away from Bucky with supreme reluctance, staring down at him with what feels like a fairly pathetic pout on his face.

Bucky doesn’t look much happier about the situation, grimacing and shaking his head before saying, “We have to - you’ve gotta be careful, Steve.”

Steve feels cold shame wash over him immediately, realizing what they were about to do and how it might feel to Bucky after what he’s gone through.

He tries to climb off Bucky entirely, hating himself for the thought that he might have made Bucky feel pressured or unsafe, but Bucky stops him with fast, strong hands, latching onto Steve’s shoulders and holding him in place.

“You can fuck me, I want that,” he assures Steve, honest and uninhibited, fingers pressing into Steve’s skin encouragingly. 

Steve bites back a possessive snarl, and Bucky smiles, quick and sweet, kissing him just as fast before adding, “I need you in me, Steve, but you’ve gotta pull out before you come, okay? If you don’t, we’ll knot for sure and it’ll complete the mating bond. No way we’re ready for that, and I’m definitely not getting knocked up our first fucking time.”

Steve’s brain shorts out, mouth falling open as he stares down at Bucky.

“Oh Jesus,” Bucky says, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder for a second before pulling away to shake his head. “Look at you, you’re already fantasizing about putting a fucking baby in me, aren’t you?”

Steve can’t deny it, exactly, but then, he can barely process what Bucky’s saying. He hadn’t - he knows all omegas can technically carry alpha children, but it had never occurred to him that Bucky - that _they_ could...

“No, Steve,” Bucky says, harsh tone only slightly offset by the sudden brightness in his eyes. “Not now and not for a long fucking time, if _ever_ , Jesus. Got enough problems as it is, so no fucking promises, you get me?”

Steve nods, responding to the order from his maker and the plea from his friend.

He feels winded from the conversation and what they’d been doing to prompt it, has to close his eyes and take a few steadying breaths.

“This is too fast, isn’t it?” Steve mutters to himself, when that approach doesn’t do anything but make things worse, his anxiety levels rising rapidly. “Jesus, what am I - you were just, and we haven’t even - god, Bucky, why you’d let me...”

Bucky grabs his face and kisses Steve viciously, his teeth catching Steve’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. They both respond to it, winding their bodies back together and kissing with brutal affection.

“Make me forget, Steve,” Bucky pants into the kiss, a desperately wanting command.

Steve kisses back, applying himself to the task with single-minded focus. Anything Bucky wants. Anything, anything.

Bucky keeps talking with some difficulty, forcing out words in stuttering stops in between kisses, “I want - I need to forget all of it, you understand?” 

Steve tries his best to nod again while Bucky presses a line of kisses along his jaw. “Not just Rumlow and what he did to me, what I... all of it, this whole crappy summer, this god awful year - everything I let come between us these past few months.” 

Steve gets out something close to Bucky’s name and his grip tightens on Steve’s shoulders, dragging him even closer and kissing him again, all tongue and desperate heat. “I need it to be just me and you, I need us to do this, to make this change about us now, and no one else.”

Steve nods in time to their kissing, pouring himself into it as much as Bucky is. It’s silent for awhile then, apart from the quiet gasps passing between them, the sound of skin on skin.

Bucky eventually pulls back enough to make eye contact with Steve, saying, “The way I see it, the only good that’s come of all this is that we finally got our heads out of our asses and admitted how we feel about each other, and I’m not losing that. I’m sure as _hell_ not letting Rumlow take it from me. You’re all I’ve ever wanted and now you’re mine, I’m not letting what happened mess that up for me or taint it in any way. So fuck me, _please_ , and make me forget anyone else ever has.”

Steve can do that - maybe. He can certainly try, will happily keep trying for the rest of their lives. Whatever it takes, no matter how long.

He’s never actually done this before, hadn’t even been kissed until Bucky, but he knows what he _wants_ to do. He also knows what feels good on himself, and for awhile just kissing Bucky and rutting together is enough, too much, too good, to think of needing anything more. Bucky gets impatient, though, starts snapping his teeth at Steve with the kind of playful defiance that begs for a swift reprimand, and Steve takes him in hand with a rough squeeze.

Bucky likes that, moans and cants his hips, pushing his hard cock deeper into Steve’s loosely curled fist. Steve’s hard, too, and he slides his free hand under Bucky’s ass, already dripping wet. Steve kisses Bucky with sloppy enthusiasm, licking into his mouth and sucking on his neck in turns as he starts to slide one finger into Bucky, amazed by how wet he is, how his body seems to unfurl at that one simple touch.

“You’ve gotta tell me if I’m messing this up,” Steve remembers to say by the time he’s got a second finger inside Bucky and they’re both gasping from it, their scents mingling together as their bodies press as close as they can go.

“Going too fuckin’ slow,” is Bucky’s only correction, and Steve listens to it promptly, adding a third finger, knuckle deep in Bucky now and twisting carefully, finding the spot that makes him drag his nails against Steve’s back in an effort to urge him deeper.

Steve is doing his best not to come just from the sight of Bucky alone, prone on his back with his mouth falling open whenever he’s not sucking on Steve’s neck or his own bottom lip, and when he replaces his fingers with his cock, Steve is sure he isn’t going to last. Wet heat surrounds him, and that’s holding himself perfectly still, trying to shut his ears against the hitching sounds Bucky is making beneath him, the way he’s clenching around Steve shamelessly, rocking his own cock against Steve’s thigh.

The fact that Steve is able to start moving inside Bucky after only a few seconds of holding his breath and trying to block out all sensation is frankly a miracle, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind the slow pace Steve is setting anymore, giving himself up to Steve entirely and offering nothing but harsh, half incoherent encouragement in return. Steve’s fucking into Bucky and sucking on three of his fingers when Bucky comes the first time, but Steve keeps going, so flooded with pleasure that it almost feels like he’s floating above himself, that illusion helping him hold it together and not come. He knows Bucky can come multiple times without any refractory period to speak of - one of the perks of being an omega - and he’s determined to give Bucky at least two more orgasms before letting himself have one. 

The first comes with Steve’s teeth in Bucky’s shoulder and his hand on Bucky’s cock, his own still buried deep inside Bucky. They just kiss for awhile after, lying on their sides, blissfully sluggish, until they crash back together, needing to properly joined again. It’s harsh and fast that time, and Steve wrings another two orgasms out of Bucky by pulling him up onto his knees and driving into him from behind with his hands on Bucky’s hips.

Steve has to pull out again after that to try and calm himself down enough to keep going, although Bucky only tolerates his absence for a few seconds before he’s flat out begging Steve to fuck him more. They end up back where they started, with Bucky lying underneath him once Steve is finally able to stop kissing Bucky long enough to push back into him and start slowly finishing himself off. He’s so hypersensitive and hard it’s painful, and Steve has never felt anything better.

“On me, on me,” Bucky starts saying over and over, the closer Steve gets to climax.

He keeps thrusting into Bucky, their hips arching together, Bucky’s come already wet and messy between them, and Steve’s close, he’s fucking ready. Bucky must feel it, because he starts pushing at Steve’s shoulders, whimpering a little as he struggles against his natural desire to keep Steve inside him, letting Steve knot him like both of them want.

“You can’t, oh god, Steve, fuck, you’ve gotta pull out, baby, but you can - I want you to come on me, Jesus, all over my--”

Steve picks up speed, driving into Bucky even harder, fingers digging into his hips as he lifts Bucky up off the mattress a little, finding an even better angle and making Bucky cry out so fucking prettily as Steve thrusts into him one last time before pulling out entirely with split seconds to spare.

He doesn’t even get a hand on his cock before he’s coming in streaks across Bucky’s face and chest, just as he’d asked. Steve breathes raggedly, leaning back on his haunches and trying to regain a few scraps of composure before angling himself lower so he can start cleaning Bucky off with his tongue.

He’s feeling thoroughly fucked out and entirely unhurried about the whole process until he gets low enough on Bucky’s belly that Steve is only inches away from Bucky’s cock, hit by the sudden and tragic realization that he hasn’t actually gotten to put his mouth on it yet. It’s a travesty that clearly cannot stand, and Steve sets about rectifying the oversight immediately, not sure what he’s doing exactly but knowing right away that he loves the weight of Bucky’s cock on his tongue. He sucks at the tip for awhile, lost to the sensation of it, and then gradually relaxes his jaw, trying to take more. Bucky isn’t hard, but Steve doesn’t mind, feels certain this is the kind of thing he could do all fucking day and not get bored of it.

Bucky doesn’t let him get that far, though, shivering under his touch and pushing at Steve’s head with weak hands, trying to shove him off as he says, “Jesus, save something for next time,” and then hissing, “Stop, stop, please, Christ, Steve,” when he doesn’t listen fast enough.

Steve pulls off entirely at that, instantly gripped with the fear that he’s pushed things too far, asked for more than Bucky is ready to give, but Bucky just shakes his head when he gets a look at Steve’s face, settling more comfortably against the pillows and patting his stomach, offering up his chest as a pillow for Steve.

He lays his head against Bucky gently, fingers absently rubbing the remnants of his come into Bucky’s skin, and says, “I love you, Buck,” because that’s what this was about, and Steve likes the reminder even if neither of them really need it.

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes, lips twitching up in a smile. “Me too, obviously,” he says after a couple seconds of silence, staring straight up at the ceiling instead of watching Steve’s reaction.

He just grins, pressing his face into Bucky’s chest for a few beats, and then teases, “You too, what, Buck?”

Bucky groans exaggeratedly and just says, “Go to sleep, Steve.”

Steve leans up to kiss Bucky one last time before doing as he’s been told.

***

Steve wakes to the sound of Bucky alternating between softly laughing and even more quietly hyperventilating at his side.

He opens his eyes and lifts his head, peering down at Bucky and saying, “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky responds with an immediate and heartfelt, “Jesus, Steve,” kissing him soundly.

Steve kisses back, eagerly trying to deepen the kiss, but Bucky grins halfway into it and pulls away to say, “You’ve seriously never done that before?”

Steve smiles, not embarrassed in the slightest. “Considering my first kiss was with you less than a week ago, and we both know it, I don’t know why you sound surprised,” he says, glad they seem to be silently agreeing that the time in the cabin while Steve was still in the midst of his change doesn’t really count, at least not like this. “Guess I’ve got a lot of catching up to do now, though. Think you can help me out with that?”

Bucky lets out a bark of laughter in response, guilt and delight wrapped into one, and he hides his face against Steve’s shoulder. “Sorry man,” he says nonsensically, still chuckling a little.

Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and keeps smiling. Whatever Bucky’s apologizing for, it doesn’t sound like it’s actually anything bad. He smells like sex and light, airy happiness.

Bucky adjusts himself against Steve, propping his chin up on Steve’s shoulder and saying, more seriously, “I should have been a bit nicer about it, I guess, huh?”

Steve squeezes Bucky tightly and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I remember it being plenty nice, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t lean back fast enough to hide the twitch of his jaw from Steve, and he says loud enough for him to hear, “I wish it’d happened before instead.”

“Well yeah, me too,” Steve says, gritting his teeth a little now to keep smiling, determined to try and stop the warmth of the afterglow from slipping away from them entirely. “We could have been doing this for years.”

“Not just because of that,” Bucky says, refusing to play along. “It’s never gonna be...” He shakes his head. “If we’d started this when we were just kids, we could have afforded to be a little stupid about it. We could have just fooled around and fallen in love and been happy, not bothering with anything else. No one would have given a shit. Instead we’re...” he sighs, twisting out of Steve’s grasp and sitting up.

Steve sits up with him, laying a tentative hand on Bucky’s back. He doesn’t react, so Steve keeps it there.

“What is it, Bucky?” he asks, when the silence stretches on longer than he can stand.

“Take your pick, Steve,” Bucky says, tucking into himself and wrapping his arms around his knees.

“I’m sorry if...” Steve starts apologizing immediately, but flounders on the specifics, eventually settling for just saying, “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

The fight drains from Bucky in an instant, and he climbs onto Steve’s lap just as fast, straddling him and gently easing him back down onto the pillows behind him.

He starts rocking their hips together coaxingly and says, “Lately, pal, you’re the only thing that hasn’t.”

***

They fall asleep for the second time after Bucky takes his turn fucking Steve. Steve’d had to work for it a little, but once he convinced Bucky that he didn’t give a shit about how their designations said they should fuck, Bucky had been all for it, eager hands and mouth opening Steve up, slicked up cock sliding into him slow and agonizingly perfect. It’d been lazy and _fun_ in a way Steve hadn’t expected or managed himself when it’d been his turn, too keyed up to go at the playful, teasing pace Bucky set when fucking him. They’d laughed, looked at each other a lot, and kissed more than anything else, falling asleep tangled together while they still kissed sloppily.

They don’t wake up until the sound of Steve’s mom opening the front door jolts them both from sleep.

Steve’s not exactly looking forward to going down there and having the conversation they’re obviously gonna need to, but Bucky looks _terrified_. He’s on his feet only seconds after they hear the key in the door, standing in the middle of Steve’s room, naked and holding himself so still he’s clearly ready to bolt but is struggling against it with all he’s got.

Steve gets it, he does, but at the same time, he can’t help laughing. “When are you going to stop being afraid of my mom?”

Bucky cocks his head with exaggerated disbelief and says, “Uh, never?”

Steve laughs again, and Bucky makes a frantic shushing motion that just makes him laugh more. He knows this is serious, something way beyond anything they’ve dealt with before, but Bucky’s always been so careful around his mom, best behavior and excessive politeness like he’s still got something to prove, when really, “You’ve been part of the family for years.”

Bucky just purses his lips dismissively and says, “Yeah, well, I’m just trying to keep it that way, ya know?”

Steve can’t help rising to his feet at that, walking over to Bucky and looping his arms around Bucky’s back, bringing their hips together and kissing Bucky with all the reassurance and love he can pour into it. “Nothing’s gonna change, Bucky, not where it counts. You’re family no matter what, but if you can’t take my word for it, then the best thing we can do is just get down there so my mom can prove it to you herself.”

Bucky doesn’t look at all convinced that that’s how it’s gonna go, and he still smells off, muted and afraid, but he goes along with what Steve’s asked of him anyway. They get dressed quickly, silently passing each other items of clothing they find in haphazard piles on Steve’s bedroom floor, and it’s all ridiculously too small, especially for Steve, but it’s the best they can do for now. He doubts their clothes will be what his mom focuses on, anyway.

He hugs Bucky again before they head downstairs, grateful his mom has always been respectful enough about his privacy that she hasn’t already come up here herself, having no doubt seen their shoes strewn about the front hall and Steve’s truck in the driveway. Bucky’s breathing a little easier by the time Steve lets him go, and they take the stairs together, holding hands.

They walk into the kitchen and Steve’s mom is there, already changed out of her scrubs and making herself a snack before she heads to bed, same as always when she comes home from a long night shift.

She turns from the fridge as soon as she hears them come in, and her jaw drops almost comically at the sight of them.

Bucky cringes, shrinking against Steve a little before shaking himself out of it and taking a step in front of him. For a second, his lip curls up and Bucky almost looks like he’s going to snarl, protective instincts kicking in hard. Steve feels it too, conflicting responses messing with his head enough to almost make him dizzy. His mom is family but she’s not _pack_ , and Steve suspects that anyone who isn’t Bucky is going to read as a threat to him, at least until Steve gets used to this new side of himself and learns to manage his reactions better.

Steve knows he’s gotta say something, either to Bucky or his mom, to try and diffuse the tension, but he doesn’t get any further than taking Bucky’s wrist and kissing it with a tender kind of possessiveness before his mom snorts and says, “Camping, huh?”

They both flush red and jump away from each other guiltily, but when Steve looks at his mom, she’s smiling.

“It was my fault, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky responds immediately, stepping in front of Steve again and cradling his wrist against his chest protectively. “I’m so sorry.”

The smile disappears from her face instantly, but Steve doesn’t think it’s for the reason Bucky likely will, and sure enough, his mom’s expression turns worried, not angry. “What happened?” she asks, and has the sense to make them all sit down at the kitchen table before they try and answer her.

It comes out in pieces, Steve and Bucky talking over each other and arguing about the other’s interpretation of events. Bucky keeps trying to take all the blame, and Steve keeps refusing to let him, and that only spirals into a rehash of their initial argument about going after Rumlow, one way or another. They end up yelling themselves hoarse right in front of his mom, almost forgetting she’s there until she clears her throat and Bucky slaps his hand over his mouth with a shocked and embarrassed look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, hanging his head and addressing both of them.

Steve’s mom gets up at that, standing at Bucky’s side for a moment before grabbing him under the arms and hauling him up into a crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she says, still holding onto him, and lets go of Bucky only enough to make an impatient hand motion at Steve, signaling that he’d better get with the program fast.

This isn’t Steve’s first Rogers family group hug, so he knows exactly what’s expected of him. In fact, it’s something they’ve tag-teamed Bucky on many times over the years, and it feels wonderfully familiar even though it’s different now with Steve being so much bigger, able to wrap his arms almost all the way around both of them.

When they finally let Bucky go, he doesn’t look calm, exactly, but better than before. He smiles dimly when Steve reclaims his hand, and they all sit back down at the table together, answering the questions Steve’s mom has started to ask them quietly.

It turns out she agrees with both of them, to an extent. She agrees with Bucky that actually charging Rumlow with anything would be an exercise in the worst kind of futility, but she also agrees with Steve that someone needs to go after Rumlow and his pack with baseball bats.

“Mrs. Rogers!” Bucky says, visibly scandalized and possibly feeling a little betrayed. Usually, they’re united in their overprotectiveness of him, agreeing that Steve takes unnecessary risks that are turning both them prematurely grey.

This time though, his mom tisks and says, “You saved my son’s life and have been like one to me yourself since you were five years old, James Buchanan. I think it’s about time you started calling me Sarah, don’t you?”

Bucky wilts at the use of his full name, same as he always does when Steve’s mom addresses him that way, but he quickly straightens up his shoulders and says, “Yes, Sarah,” with a familiar gracefulness Steve’s always admired.

Bucky’s real smooth when he wants to be, although he’s rarely brave enough to try his charms on Steve’s mom. She laughs a little, but it sounds pleased, and she pats Bucky’s cheek affectionately before leaning to across the table to smack Steve far less gently.

“What were you thinking, going after Brock Rumlow and his thugs alone? Even if you didn’t know they were wolves, which, Steve honey, everyone does, then you still should have known better.”

“I thought they were hurting Bucky, and I was right,” Steve says, refusing to apologize, despite knowing what his actions almost cost his mom and Bucky both.

There’s a brief flicker of pride on her face before his mom’s expression hardens again and she says, “It was still a damn foolish thing to do, and I expect you to have at least thanked James, even if you won’t apologize to him.”

“I’ve tried!” Steve defends himself, waving at Bucky in agitation. “You saw, he thinks it’s all his fault.”

“That’s because it _is_ , Steve!” Bucky shouts back, and they’re about to be at each other’s throats again but Steve’s mom stops them with a single look.

They both slink back further into their chairs and stare down guiltily at their hands.

“Listen to me, both of you,” she says, fierce and loving like only Steve’s mom knows how to be. She’s always been his fucking hero, and she demonstrates why yet again, saying firmly, “You want to blame someone, you blame Brock Rumlow. This is _not_ your fault, James, not any of it. It’s his.”

Bucky shakes his head, rising up in his seat again as he says, “You don’t know what I - I went looking for--”

“I don’t care if you marched up to him and begged him to turn you, James Buchanan Barnes. You’re still underage, and what he did to you after was unconscionable, nothing you could ever be responsible for. And if you really think you’re something special, that it was something _you_ did that brought this on, then you’ve got another think coming. You’re not the first, honey, not by a long shot. I wish it wasn’t so, but Rumlow has been sending kids to my ER since he was barely out of grade school himself. He’s a predator, and it doesn’t have a single thing to do with what you might have said or done.”

Steve beams at his mom proudly for a few seconds before adopting her resolute look and turning it on Bucky with a pointed, “ _Yeah_.”

In response, Bucky groans and buries his face in his arms, head thunking down on the table.

“No fair ganging up on me, you assoles,” he mutters, and then inhales sharply, probably because he’s realized he just called Steve’s mom an asshole.

She laughs, and says, “Well, I still prefer Sarah, but points for effort, I suppose.”

***

They keep talking in circles for a long time, making some progress in terms of lessening Bucky’s anxiety levels, but never actually coming to a decision on what to do about Rumlow. Eventually, his mom abandons that line of conversation in favor of launching into a mortifyingly in-depth lecture on their new physiologies and the vital importance of practicing safe sex between alphas and omegas.

It’s a draining morning all around, and when his mom is finally done with them, he and Bucky head back to Steve’s room and lock the door behind them.

Bucky looks like he’s been hit in the face by a two-by-four, and Steve feels pretty much the same way. That was definitely more detail than he ever wanted to hear his mom go into about his sex life, even if part of him is endlessly grateful for how supportive she’s being and even appreciates the expertise she brings to the table, going so far as promising to bring home birth control pills designed for male omegas so Steve doesn’t accidentally knock Bucky up.

Grateful or not, it was still a lot to take, and Steve doesn’t fault Bucky at all for pacing the room anxiously for a few minutes before throwing up his hands and saying, “Steve, I can’t, I gotta,” and then starting to shuck off his clothes.

Once he’s naked Bucky just stands there with his clothes at his feet, staring at Steve with a bleakly pleading expression, and it takes Steve only a couple seconds to realize he’s waiting for permission before he shifts. Steve nods as soon as he understands what Bucky wants, watching him transform for only the second time.

It’s as mesmerizing as it was the first time, and Steve understands the appeal almost instantly, remembering how much simpler and more straightforward it felt to travel in the wolf’s skin.

After a few seconds Bucky trots over to him and comes to heel at Steve’s side, licking his hand and whining softly. Steve pets him a little, amazed by how soft Bucky’s fur is, and then starts stripping down as well, needing only a couple of tries to remember how to quiet his thoughts enough to allow the shift to wash over him.

It feels just like it did the first time - impossibly strange and perfectly natural all at once - and Steve finds himself releasing a low howl of satisfaction as the change solidifies and his senses are flooded with Bucky, his scent so much stronger and more vivid to Steve’s senses now. He and Bucky are more or less the same height in their wolf forms, and for a long time they breathe each other in, scenting and licking each other’s muzzles until they’re soothed enough to curl up together on the floor and fall to sleep.

Their respite doesn’t last long, though. Steve’s torn roughly from sleep by the sound of Bucky’s distressed, mournful whines, and he has to shift back into human form in order to actually wake Bucky up and calm him down enough for Bucky to be able to do the same.

Bucky clings to him just as tightly in his human form as he did in his wolfskin, indifferent to their nakedness as he climbs into Steve’s lap and says, “Rumlow’s looking for me. I could feel him through the pack velt.” He shakes his head violently. “He’s fucking pissed.”

Steve closes his eyes and kisses Bucky’s neck, letting his tongue linger possessively on the bite mark Rumlow left on Bucky when he turned him.

“We knew that was probably going to happen,” Steve can’t help but say, even if he doesn’t have the heart to put any recrimination into his tone.

“I hoped...” Bucky trails off, shaking his head again. “I thought maybe if we left it alone, he would, too.”

“Come on, Buck,” Steve says, scoffing a little now despite himself. “We both know it was never going to go down that way. I hate it, but he’s still the one who turned you, and you’re an omega, besides. You said yourself you didn’t think you’d be able to let me leave town without you, not after turning me, and even though he’s a monster, Rumlow’s gotta be feeling some of that same pull. No way he’s letting you go without a fight.”

“So what are you gonna do, Steve,” Bucky says, getting up and off Steve abruptly, only standing long enough to pull on a pair of boxers and go sit back down on Steve’s bed. “You want to kill Rumlow, try a little murder on for size, see how you like it?”

It doesn’t sound so bad to Steve, honestly, but, “I still think--”

“You heard your mom, Steve. Rumlow’s been doing this for years, no one’s stopped him. If anything, the cops and the doctors probably help cover it up because they think it’s the only way they can protect themselves.”

Steve comes to sit down beside Bucky on the bed, but leaves enough space between them that they’re not touching in any way. He sighs and says, “If we don’t stop him, then we have to leave, all of us.”

Bucky nods silently.

“I don’t know if I can do that, Buck, if I can ask my mom to. It’s one thing to move away for school or a job, that’s part of life, but this is our home, Bucky. We grew up here, I can’t imagine never being able to come back. Besides, if we don’t stop him, he’ll just keep hurting people, you know he will.”

“It’s not my fucking problem,” Bucky spits, but the venom in his voice doesn’t carry over into his scent, and he sags almost instantly, shifting closer and letting his head drop onto Steve’s shoulder. “I don’t mean that,” he says, almost too quietly to hear.

Steve rests his chin against the crown of Bucky’s head and says, “I know, Buck. We’ll think of something, okay? Something we both can live with, I promise.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, at least not verbally, but he relaxes into Steve’s side, and when Steve presses his nose to Bucky’s neck, he smells of nothing but freshly cut cedar and Steve himself. To Steve, he mostly just smells like home.

***

By the next afternoon, Bucky is tired of wearing Steve’s ill-fitting hand-me-downs, and in the daylight it feels safe enough to risk making a trip to his apartment to pick up a few essentials.

They hold hands again, marking each other’s wrists as Steve drives, but only get halfway down Bucky’s street before he’s tensing in his seat, his grip on Steve’s hand tightening enough to make his knuckles go white. “Turn around, Steve,” he hisses between his bared teeth.

The street is mostly empty, one or two cars parked in front of the bowling alley Bucky lives above, but he doesn’t recognize any of them as belonging to Rumlow or the other guys who run with him, so Steve keeps driving, and says, “I don’t see--”

“He’s inside my fucking apartment,” Bucky cuts in with a frantic edge to his tone. “I can feel it, he’s waiting for us, Steve, turn _around_.”

Steve slams on the breaks and performs a highly illegal three-point turn in the middle of the road before hitting the gas and speeding back in the direction they came as fast as his truck will go. Neither of them say anything or take an easy breath until they’re back in Steve’s house and have checked on his mom, finding her safe and sound, reading on the living room couch.

“I’m surprised they don’t have someone watching this place too,” Bucky says, shaking his head and looking furious with himself for not preparing for that already, protecting against it somehow.

“Probably just figured we wouldn’t risk my mom seeing us like this,” Steve says, shrugging.

His mom puts her book down and looks at them with a tired smile. She warned them not to go anywhere near Bucky’s place, but hadn’t stopped them from going when they said they needed to try.

“Good thing he doesn’t have any idea who he’s dealing with, then, isn’t it?” she asks, her smile gaining some confidence with the words.

Bucky laughs, high strung but not exactly a denial, and he lets Steve shove him gently down onto the couch beside his mom before taking the opposite spot on Bucky’s left. He and his mom both lean into Bucky, shoulders pressed solidly together, and for a long time they just sit like that, drawing strength and comfort from each other.

***

The peace doesn’t last long. Steve and his mom keep Bucky caged protectively between them for less than half an hour before he’s up and pacing again, getting more and more agitated with every length of the room he completes. He smells _awful_ , so bad Steve can’t even stand to focus in on it close enough to try and pick out the various toxic emotions clouding his scent.

Bucky looks one step away from wringing his hands, for god’s sake, seemingly that intent on forming the perfect picture of abject misery. There’s still plenty of anger to go around too, all self-directed.

“I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid. We never should have come back here.” He stops pacing long enough to glance down at Steve’s mom for a second before shaking his head and saying, “Mrs. Rogers - Sarah, I’m so sorry about all this, I never wanted to endanger Steve or your home, I just didn’t - I couldn’t...” He trails off, staring into space for a few seconds before snapping himself out of it and saying, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Given what you had to work with, honey, I’d say you did more than alright,” she says, a steadiness to her tone that Steve draws great comfort from, and hopes Bucky can, too.

Bucky’s shoulders go down a few notches, but then he starts back up again, pacing and muttering to himself furiously.

Steve watches helplessly for a couple more minutes before standing to his feet and trying to cut in, placing a heavy hand on Bucky’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

Bucky shakes Steve off roughly and says, “He’s gonna come here sooner or later, I know it. How could he not? Rumlow’s a thug, but he’s not stupid, and by now he _must_ know that I turned you. Hell, he called me himself after they were done trying to bash your head in, and I know he wanted me to find you out there. Probably thought it’d be too late, but...”

He’s really worked up again now, practically vibrating with tension and guilt, continuing on to say, “Everyone knows how tight we are, and _I_ know Rumlow was jealous of you even before, that’s gotta be why they hurt you so bad, but if you’d have died it’d be all over town and he’d know, so, I just--”

“Bucky, _Bucky_ ,” Steve nearly shouts, but it takes saying Bucky’s name a third, gentler time to actually make him stop talking and stand still. 

He’s a little _too_ still for Steve’s taste, frozen on the spot and barely breathing, but when Steve inclines his head and says, “C’mere, please,” Bucky does.

He comes to stand in front of Steve wordlessly and swift, melting into his arms as soon as Steve has gotten them around Bucky. Steve’s strong enough now to hold Bucky up even if he’s dead weight in Steve’s arms, so that’s what he does.

His mom gets up quietly, and runs her hand across Bucky’s shoulders once before leaving the room, giving them privacy.

When it’s just the two of them, Bucky starts making these horrible wheezing noises that Steve doesn’t have any idea how to stop so he just keeps holding Bucky with one arm and rubbing his back with his other hand until the almost-sobs turn into a somehow even more awful sounding laughter.

That’s about when Bucky pulls back from Steve, still chuckling meanly at himself as he says, “Remember when I was the one looking after you all the time? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I think I liked that better.”

Steve heart snaps into a few jagged pieces at that, but he tries to mean it when he nods gravely and says, “Yeah, Buck, me too.”

Bucky seems to smell the lie right away, before Steve’s even absolutely certain that’s what it was, but it makes something soften in his expression anyway, and after a second or two, he takes a step closer to Steve again, a faint smile teasing up the corners of his lips.

“You like playing the big strong alpha taking care of his helpless little omega, admit it,” he says, his smile turning flirty, eyes suddenly a little too wide.

“You’re not helpless, Bucky,” Steve says sternly, unable to refute the rest of it. “Same way I wasn’t before the change. It’s okay to need help sometimes, to lean on the people you care about. Doesn’t make you weak. You taught me that,” he says when Bucky snorts. “Too late to back out on it now, the lesson finally stuck.”

“Pretty convenient timing, Rogers, that’s all I’m saying,” Bucky says, but he sounds like his old self again, and Steve can’t help but smile at him.

“Better late than never, though, right?” he asks, trying on a flirty tone of his own, and it might not be as finessed as Bucky’s attempt, but unlike Bucky’s, it’s also completely genuine.

He doesn’t get the kiss he’s hoping for, but the groan of embarrassed laughter his words pull from Bucky is pretty great too.

“We’ve gotta work on your game, man, I’m serious. If I’m going to be the one you keep trying to put the moves on then I’m not putting up with that half-assed bullshit. I wanna be fucking romanced, okay? You need to be suave and shit if you want to keep me around, I’m a hot fucking commodity.”

“The hottest,” Steve assures him, roping his arms around Bucky’s waist and kissing him long and sweet. “Not a thing, though,” he can’t help adding once he’s withdrawn.

Bucky smiles, a little condescending on the surface but secretly pleased, and he shakes his head a bit before kissing Steve again and saying, “Nope, just yours.”

Steve smiles against Bucky’s lips and deepens the kiss. No sense arguing with that.

***

Around dinner time, a van Steve doesn’t recognize parks right in front of his house. His mom has already gone back into work, despite Steve and Bucky’s combined protests, and the two of them are sitting in the living room trying to decide if it’s safe to make a quick run to the butcher’s to pick up some raw steaks or something else they can stomach when they notice the van.

Bucky swears under his breath and gets low, trying to hide and take a better look at the vehicle at the same time, half-crawling to the window and peeking out at the street from behind the gauzy curtains.

“Someone’s coming,” he says after a couple seconds, waving frantically behind his back at Steve.

Steve looks around wildly for a moment, trying to figure out a place big enough for the two of them to hide, but then he realizes that’s maybe a little bit ridiculous, especially given that they don’t even know what’s happening yet. It could just be a Jehovah’s Witness, or someone selling cookies to raise money for the Girl Guides.

“Is it Rumlow?” Steve asks, standing up to get a better look.

Bucky says, “Jesus Christ, Steve,” and scrambles off the ground, shoving Steve back out of view.

He looks like he’s about to start yelling, but there’s a loud knock on the door before he gets a chance, and they both almost jump out of their skins.

They make identical dumbfounded “O” shapes with their mouths, and then get into an accidental slap fight trying to stop each other from moving. Well, Bucky is trying to stop Steve from answering the door, and Steve is trying not to let him.

After they each get in a few good hits, there’s another knock at the door, and Steve takes advantage of Bucky’s split second of surprise to race toward the door. It’s not that he’s all that eager to face Rumlow, but he doesn’t feel like hiding for the rest of his life, either. That’s just not how Steve was raised.

Besides, if it really _was_ Rumlow at the door, he figures Bucky would have said so by now, sensed it.

At least he hopes.

By the time Steve opens the door, Bucky has caught up with him, square shoulders and dark glare positioned firmly at Steve’s side.

It’s not Rumlow on the other side of the door.

It’s a woman Steve’s never seen before - shockingly red curls and giant aviators that she pulls off with a little smirk before she says, “Great job so far, fellas, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut in,” flashing a very official looking badge to complete her entrance.

Steve says, “What?” and Bucky just snarls. It’s neither of their finest hour.

“Cute,” the woman says, and then she grabs each of them by the collar and pushes them inside, shutting the door behind her with a graceful kick.

“My name is Natasha Romanoff, I work for the SSR,” she says as soon as they’re all inside, toeing off her shoes at the same time. “You can call me Agent for short.” She straightens up and flashes them a grin. “I’m here to rescue you.”

Steve’s halfway into a kneejerk, “Thank you?” but Bucky says over him, “Why the hell should we believe you? And what the fuck is the _SSR_?”

Agent Romanoff shrugs, still smiling in a calculated sort of way. “Best reason to trust me is that you have no other choice, I’m pretty much all you two crazy kids have got. Luckily for you, I’m the best at what I do, so just me is really all you need. The SSR stands for the Strategic Supernatural Reserve, but we tend to stick with the acronym. Makes the whole thing feel a little less silly.”

“The Strategic Supernatural Reserve?” Steve echos doubtfully.

Bucky just rolls his eyes. He’s still tensed like he’s ready to bolt or fight, whichever he thinks Steve might go along with. Steve shakes his head, and Bucky sighs, standing down just a fraction.

Agent Romanoff makes an amused sound, drawing their attention back to her. “Maybe we should all sit down for the history lesson? Get comfortable,” she says, waving a hand toward the living room.

Steve goes along with it because he thinks it’d be a good idea to get Bucky off his feet, sitting down where Steve can hold onto him. Agent Romanoff shoots him a quick conspiratorial smirk behind Bucky’s back as they head into the living room, and Steve moves a little closer to him, keeping his hand against the nape of Bucky’s neck the rest of the way to the couches.

When they’re sitting down, Agent Romanoff clears her throat dramatically and begins, “The Strategic Supernatural Reserve was formed during the Second World War. Hitler was obsessed with legends of empires built on warrior wolves, and under him the Nazis did everything they could to try and harness the forces of the supernatural to serve their cause. They never fully succeeded in turning weres into super-soldiers, but it worked well enough that the SSR needed to be created to clean up the mess, and we never really went away. These days, we’re just a small branch of SHIELD, which I trust you both _have_ heard of.”

Reluctantly, they both nod. Pretty much everyone in the world has heard of SHIELD, but it still seems dangerous, agreeing to anything she says. At the same time, Steve can’t help but want to trust her. She’s a wolf, like them, he can smell that much, but from the muted nature of her scent and the calming influence he’s felt since she first knocked, Steve’s guessing she’s a beta.

“Glad to see you’re well informed citizens of this great nation,” she says, managing to sound sarcastic despite using no inflection whatsoever. “We have field offices across the country, but unfortunately most of our budget has been slashed in the past few years. There’s not a lot of interest in were-rights these days, or government spending, for that matter. Most of us are Supers too, just trying to do our part.”

“And you’re here to help us stop Rumlow?” Steve says, a bit too eagerly, given the groan Bucky makes in response.

“You got it, kiddo.”

“Why?” Bucky says, overtly hostile and leaning forward a little in his seat.

Agent Romanoff shrugs. “Well, the pay is crap and the hours are worse, but what can I say, usually helping people is worth it anyway.”

Steve can’t help but be impressed by that, but Bucky is less easily convinced, glaring harder and saying, “Right, I’m sure you’re a regular Mother Theresa.”

Agent Romanoff shakes her head, something in her demeanor shifting, becoming more serious, real. “It’s not that simple, you’re right. Nothing ever is. But trust me when I say that I’m here to help, and more importantly, that I _can_.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, still aggressively distrustful. “Well, your timing sucks.”

Steve takes his hand and squeezes tightly. Bucky squeezes back, but doesn’t relax.

Agent Romanoff shakes her head. “I’m truly sorry for what happened to both of you. I wish Rumlow’s pack had been stopped long before now, but as I said, our organization is stretched very thin, and we don’t have a lot of support from the higher ups. It’s a struggle just to keep running, to justify even that, and frankly, the Agent who had your town’s file before me was an idiot. Which is why he was fired, and I was put on the case. Rumlow’s been on our radar for some time, but before I took the case he wasn’t considered a high enough threat level to intervene.”

Steve’s the one who snarls this time, the knowledge that Rumlow could have been stopped before he ever hurt Bucky but _wasn’t_ filling him with rage so sudden and bright he nearly shifts right then and there, desperate to bare his teeth and howl. Bucky soothes him through it with a strong hand and a soft kiss pressed to the side of Steve’s neck.

“Like I said, he was an idiot,” Agent Romanoff continues, after she’s given them a moment. “I only got the file a week ago, but one of our warlocks sensed something big was happening, and I got here as fast as I could. Maybe it’s too little, too late, but I swear to you that when I’m done here, you’ll never have to worry about Rumlow or his pack again.”

“You’re really strong enough to take them all out?” Steve asks, hopeful again despite himself.

“I am,” she says, nodding confidently. Even Bucky doesn’t see fit to challenge her on that, something about the way she’s carried herself since knocking on their door making it hard to doubt her, at least about that. “SHIELD has a facility the SSR uses for just these sorts of cases, and Rumlow and his pack? They all go.”

“So what the hell do you need us for?” Bucky wants to know. Steve has to admit, he’s got the same question.

Agent Romanoff smiles regretfully, and this seems real, too, not like her others. “The problem at this point isn’t Rumlow, not precisely. I can take him down myself, and it’ll help your town, get another scumbag off the streets, but it won’t do the two of you any good.”

“Why not?” Steve says, confused and a little plaintive.

He feels Bucky tense up again at his side, trying unsuccessfully to pull his hand away from Steve’s.

Agent Romanoff hums to herself and then says to Bucky, sounding faintly surprised, “You didn’t tell him?”

Bucky clenches his jaw and looks way, but doesn’t answer.

Steve holds on tighter to Bucky and says, “What am I missing, here?”

Agent Romanoff looks between them for a beat, sighs, and mutters, “Teenagers.” She shakes her head and then says, “I know you two are new at this, but the internet does in fact exist for a reason other than porn, and learning a few basics about the world you just joined really shouldn’t be too much to ask.”

“What?” Steve says, he admits, pretty stupidly. Bucky just glares, clearly ahead of Steve on this one.

Agent Romanoff squares her shoulders, going back into lecture mode. “Rumlow is a piece of trash that I _will_ be collecting for my favorite dumpster, but he’s also James’ maker. That doesn’t come without certain strings. You can run all you want, and we can even lock him up, but the pack velt stretches far, and so does a maker’s control.”

“I don’t care who fucking made me, I chose Steve,” Bucky spits, at the same time as Steve says, “How do you even know our names?”

Agent Romanoff answers Steve first with a slightly self-deprecating, “I know everything,” and then turns to Bucky and says, “You can choose him all you want, but your wolf belongs to someone else. Whenever you transform, you’ll feel your maker’s pull, and you can’t fight against that, not forever.”

“It’s working so far,” Bucky counters, but his voice sounds small, all his furious confidence gone.

“It really is impressive that you’ve managed to hold out this long, but trust me when I say that it won’t last. This primal shit runs deep, and not even the strongest among us can resist forever. Even if you killed him yourself, that wouldn’t be enough, not unless a successful challenge is made first. Omegas who lose their makers before they’ve been claimed by their mate...” She shakes her head. “Let’s just say it doesn’t usually end well for them.”

Steve can’t help but ask, “What happens to them?” even though she’s clearly not done talking.

“They tend to go mad,” Agent Romanoff answers simply, no apology or even pity in her voice. “But the good news for you,” she continues, patting Bucky’s knee not quite patronizingly, “is that the alpha you really want just so happens to be a nice big strong newborn, so he actually stands a chance fighting for you.”

“I’m not letting Steve--”

“You don’t really have a choice, James,” Agent Romanoff cuts in smoothly. “As an unbonded omega, the only way to break your maker’s claim on you is to have another wolf challenge him for it. When things are working as they should, the challenge is far more symbolic than actual, the claim passing freely from maker to mate, all parties in agreement, but nothing I’ve learned about Brock Rumlow indicates he’ll give up his claim without a fight.”

Steve knows she’s right, and from the way Bucky is suddenly holding his tongue, Steve’s guessing Bucky knows the same. Better than anyone.

“That’s where you come in,” Agent Rumlow says, nodding to Steve. “Newborns are strongest their first couple weeks, it’s a survival thing, so we have to move quickly. I can train you up a bit, but we don’t have a lot of time, and most of what you’ll need to know will come to you instinctively after you make the change. But it has to be you, Steve, or the two of you don’t get to ride off into the sunset like you’ve planned. You fight him, you win, then you get your happy ending.”

“Is this a fucking joke to you?” Bucky demands. “These are our lives you’re talking about! _Steve’s_ life.”

The cool resolve in her expression flickers for a moment, but Agent Romanoff recovers herself quickly, saying, “I can see how much you two care about each other, hell, I could smell it from a block away. It really is very sweet, and I’d like you both to get to enjoy some part of what happened to you, to see that the bite isn’t always a curse, but I am telling you honestly, this is the only way that happens. I will do everything in my power to make sure Steve is ready for this fight, but it’s got to be his.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Bucky says, arms crossed defiantly.

Steve tugs at his hands, pulling them out from under Bucky’s armpits and reclaiming one of them, needing something to hold onto when he says, “Please, Buck. You’ve gotta let me do this. I need to, for both of us.”

Bucky sags against him, and sighs out, “Dammit, Steve,” but that isn’t a no, and they both know it.

Agent Romanoff seems to know it too, because she stands up, a bracing smile on her face, and says, “Wonderful. Let’s get started.”

***

The thing about training with Agent Romanoff is... Steve really fucking likes it. They start with some basic hand-to-hand, a first step she assures him is necessary although most of the fight will require him to shift. Steve follows instructions well and picks up what she’s trying to teach him faster than he expected, and it’s just - it’s _fun_. This is what his new body was made to do, and every time he lands a punch, something inside him hums joyfully.

Bucky seems to get increasingly upset the more Steve enjoys himself, so he tries to tone it down, but he can’t help but like this feeling, a heady strength bordering on invincibility. Besides, he’s been getting into fights his whole life. It’d be nice to finally know what it feels like to win one.

They’re down in Steve’s basement, not a lot of headroom or space at all, but Agent Romanoff tells him that’s good, because close and awkward quarters will make him fight smarter. They spar for longer than Steve can keep track of, nothing but darkness coming through the small basement window, but the longer they practice, the more natural it all feels, so much so that Steve’s actually able to take control of the fight once or twice, at least until Agent Romanoff stops going easy on him.

That’s also around the time Bucky starts growling at the back of his throat, hunched on the stairs watching them. When Agent Romanoff uses Steve’s distraction to knock him on his ass, Bucky stands and snaps his teeth.

Agent Romanoff tilts her head curiously and then grins. “Feisty one, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Steve says, laughing proudly.

Bucky looks ready to offer a few choice opinions of his own, but before he gets the chance, Agent Romanoff says, “Ever fired a gun, kid?”

Bucky falters, face scrunching in a frankly adorable display of confusion. “A few times, yeah,” he says eventually, awkwardly wrong-footed when attempting to do anything but argue with Agent Romanoff stubbornly. “My first foster dad used to take me out shooting sometimes, before they moved away.”

“Any good?” she asks, nodding slightly.

Bucky shrugs. “I’ve got steady hands.”

It’s true. Bucky brought Steve along on one of those hunting trips, and Bucky’d taken down more birds than his foster dad had. Steve remembers being upset about it at the time, young enough to nearly cry over the dead birds, and Bucky hadn’t invited him back again, stopped going entirely not long after that.

Steve’s kicking himself for that now, that’s for sure.

“Well aren’t you two just found money,” Agent Romanoff says, mostly to herself. She puts her hands on her hips and adds, “Either of you looking for work after all this is over?”

Bucky says, “No,” at the same time as Steve thinks, _maybe_. His youthful dreams of moving to New York City and becoming a famous artist feel distant to him now, childish and naive.

Agent Romanoff ignores Bucky in favor of turning back to Steve and saying, “Okay, now for the fun part.”

***

Over the next few days of training, it turns out she’s right. The sparring they did in their human forms has _nothing_ on how exhilarating it feels to shift and let instinct take over, snarling and baring his teeth. As a wolf, Steve is all sinew and cleverness, smart and strong enough to overpower Agent Romanoff’s smaller beta form after the second day. She doesn’t have the brute force Rumlow will, but she’s faster than him, and likely smarter, too. It’s a good sign, and even Bucky can’t argue with what he’s seeing.

By the third day, Steve feels confident, ready to end this once and for all. Bucky is still against the idea, but his mood has improved a lot since Agent Romanoff gave him a Glock to conceal in an ankle holster and a M24 sniper rifle to strap across his back when the fight does come. When she’s not sparring with Steve, she’s getting Bucky to shoot bottles off the fence around the field behind Steve’s house.

Steve’s mom comes and goes, making tea and offering the occasional word of encouragement from halfway down the basement stairs. She and Agent Romanoff get along almost disturbingly well, and his mom is the only one of them allowed to call her Natasha.

Rumlow and his goons circle Steve’s house every night, but they never try to come inside or even stop the car when they drive past again and again, and his mom promises Steve that she hasn’t been getting any trouble at the hospital or anywhere else in town when she goes out. Agent Romanoff goes hunting twice, and always brings back enough for Steve and Bucky to eat too.

It feels like a spell has been cast over them, those few days learning at Agent Romanoff’s hand, like a protective bubble has surrounded their house and beyond it, whenever one of them has to leave. By the fourth day, Steve’s learned enough to realize that’s probably _exactly_ what’s happening. Agent Romanoff did mention that the SSR had warlocks on their payroll, after all.

Still, it can’t last. Steve knows that, and it doesn’t.

Their window is limited, Agent Romanoff told them that much as well, and Steve gets weaker with each day that passes. He’s still plenty strong, and he’s learning her lessons well, but some of the raw power of a newborn werewolf leaves Steve’s body every day, and by the fifth night, Agent Romanoff tells them it’s time.

There’s a full moon out that night, something she says will work in Steve’s favor, although she doesn’t explain why, and before they go, they all sit down to a dinner only Steve’s mom will eat. A last supper, quiet togetherness and strategizing wrapped into one.

Steve hugs his mom goodbye after she finishes eating, and silently promises to bring Bucky back to her safe and sound as he watches them say their own goodbyes, parting with a kiss Steve’s mom leaves on Bucky’s cheek.

***

“You don’t have to do this, Steve,” Bucky tries one last time as they drive out of town, leaving an obvious trail for Rumlow and his pack to follow.

“Yes I do,” Steve disagrees quietly, eyes on the road even though Agent Romanoff is driving, both of them relegated to the backseat of Steve’s own truck.

“You don’t,” Bucky insists. “I’ve been fine, haven’t I? So long as I don’t shift, Rumlow can’t affect me. All I have to do is stay human.”

“You can’t do that James,” Agent Romanoff says over her shoulder. “The wolf is part of you, denying that will only lead to madness, and I do mean of the clinical variety. Weres who don’t shift lose their minds, the animal and human parts of themselves bottled up too tightly together, neither half ever fully realizing itself. Like I said when we started, this is the only way.”

Bucky simmers mutinously for a few moments before grudgingly double-checking, “But if it starts to go bad, I get to shoot him, right?”

Agent Romanoff smiles sharply into the rearview mirror and says, “I wouldn’t be going into this if I thought that would happen, but hell, kid. If Rumlow gets lippy with me after your boyfriend’s done cleaning the forest floor with him, I might just let you shoot him anyway.”

***

After all that fear and anticipation, beating Rumlow is almost disappointingly easy.

The worst part by far is actually waiting for him and the rest of his pack to show up, but once they do, it’s all advantage Rogers, as far as he can tell.

Rumlow doesn’t even recognize him at first, staring at Steve blankly and saying, “Who the hell are you?”

He’s standing alone in the clearing, apart from Agent Romanoff. Bucky is hidden in a tree a ways back and roughly thirty feet above them, gun poised and ready. If Steve can feel him, Rumlow probably can too, but he seems pretty thrown off by Steve’s appearance, and the muting effects of Agent Romanoff’s beta pheromones work in their favor as well.

Steve kind of wants to answer with something cutting and badass like, “Your worst nightmare,” but the sight and smell of Rumlow must be way too much for his wolf, because he’s shifting without meaning to or even realizing at first, his clothes falling in tatters to his feet.

It’s a solid enough response, he figures, launching himself at Rumlow while he’s still mid-shift, and for a while the only things Steve knows are the sounds of blood pumping in his ears and the feel of vicious, snarling teeth. The battle for dominance is fast and brutal, and leaves Rumlow pinned to the ground, Steve’s jaw on his throat.

Steve hears Bucky call out, “Steve, stop! It worked, it worked, stop!”

He has to repeat himself a few more times, hopping down from his tree and petting Steve’s fur, but eventually that cuts through Steve’s bloodlust enough to make him shift back, pulling himself off Rumlow with disgust.

Human again, he takes in the scene around him slowly. Agent Romanoff has dealt with the rest of Rumlow’s pack while Steve was busy fighting him, and Steve can’t help but smile at them, kneeling in a little row, hands tied behind their backs. Rumlow is still passed out on the ground, and Steve abandons him to latch onto Bucky, still feeling half wild with worry for him. This is closer to Rumlow than he ever wanted Bucky to have to be again.

He’s still naked, but the night is warm and Steve is long past any sense of self-consciousness. Only Bucky matters, making sure he’s okay, making sure Rumlow’s claim on him is really gone.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks Bucky, desperate for confirmation, his hands fluttering to touch Bucky’s face and kiss him in three different places - mouth, neck, and then forehead.

Bucky grins, happier than Steve’s seen him since this all started, and says, “Yeah, I’m fucking sure. I was - I didn’t even realize how much he was still in my head, fucking with me, until it stopped. I thought I’d have to shift to be sure but,” he shakes his head. “I’m all yours, baby.”

He’s teasing, but Steve picks Bucky up off the ground anyway, spinning him around and howling triumphantly, human form or no.

Agent Romanoff breaks up their celebration after a couple spins, and Steve’s still putting on the spare clothes she was smart enough to bring along for him when a familiar looking van pulls up the dirt road they’re all gathered at the end of.

Steve tenses immediately, standing in front of Bucky to shield him, but Agent Romanoff holds up a reassuring hand and says, “It’s okay, it’s just the clean-up crew I ordered. Not a threat to you.”

She’s treating him differently now, Steve realizes slowly. Not deferential, exactly, but respectful in a way he knows he hadn’t quite earned before.

The ‘clean-up crew’ consists solely of a cheerfully sarcastic guy who introduces himself as Sam. He has no scent, and he showed up at the perfect moment without Agent Romanoff so much as taking out her phone, so Steve figures maybe he’s the warlock that’s been watching over them. Whoever he is, Sam seems like a pro, definitely been there, done that. He spends a lot of his time shaking his head at the state of all three of them, like really, did you need to make such a mess, but appreciatively calls Agent Romanoff a ‘menace’ as he helps her shove Rumlow and his guys into the back of the van.

The only goodbye Agent Romanoff offers them before getting into the van with him is a sardonic smile and a business card she slips into Steve’s pocket.

“Just think about it,” she says, and before Bucky can get pissed about the half-assed recruitment pitch, she tosses him a wink out the window of the van like a parting gift.

“Keep the guns, kid,” she says, smirking him a little, and adds, “They might come in handy again some day,” before Sam starts up the van and they drive off together with Rumlow and his pack trussed up in the back.

That about does it for the night’s proceedings, and after standing together in the moonlit forest for a while, holding hands, Bucky and Steve climb into his truck and start heading off down the road themselves. Steve’s riding high on waves of adrenaline and relief, and while Bucky didn’t actually get to shoot Rumlow, from the way he’s practically bouncing in his seat, smelling of nothing but pride and exhilaration and _Steve_ the whole ride home, it’s hard to believe he’s all that broken up about it.

***

Steve’s mom is waiting up for them when they get home, having decided that this was one night shift she could afford to miss. She doesn’t say anything when they come inside, just hugs them both at once, her hands firm against the backs of their necks as she holds them close.

She doesn’t ask how it went, or what happened, and they don’t offer details. Instead, they just stand there together for a long time, holding onto each other and letting that be enough.

***

When exhaustion gets the better of all three of them, Steve and Bucky break apart from his mom and then they all go upstairs together, retreating into their separate bedrooms.

It’s quiet between them, alone in Steve’s room.

Bucky sits cross-legged at the foot of Steve’s bed, worrying the slightly frayed cuff of his jeans for awhile before he says, “Listen, I hope to fucking god this is the last time I have to say this for awhile, but I’m sorry, Steve.”

Steve’s resting his back against the wall on the opposite end of the bed from Bucky, but he can’t help moving closer at that, even if he does leave a good foot of space between them, just in case that’s what Bucky wants. “For what?” he asks gently, wishing they were actually touching but unwilling to push.

Bucky kicks him a little with his foot, giving Steve the excuse he needs to grab onto Bucky’s ankle and not let go.

With Steve’s palm wrapped securely around his bare ankle, Bucky says, “Kind of a blanket apology for how I’ve been acting, I guess? Like I said out there, I didn’t realize how badly Rumlow was messing with my head until he... wasn’t. So, yeah. Sorry for being such an asshole, basically.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, short and quiet but also sincere, warm. “You’re always an asshole, Buck.”

Bucky’s grin is dim and similarly short-lived, but just as real as Steve’s affectionate laughter had been. “I’m not saying I can blame all of it on Rumlow, but maybe more than either of us realized, you know?”

Steve nods, trying to accept this calmly even though it’s stirring up a dozen different kinds of worry and apprehension in his gut. If Bucky hasn’t even been in control these past few days, then what does that make them? Does Bucky even want to be with him the way he said? How can Steve live with himself if none of what happened between them was real, something Bucky actually wanted too?

Bucky must pick up on at least some of his anxiety, whether through his scent or the quite likely panicked expression on Steve’s face, and he kicks Steve again, saying, “No, fuck no, Steve, it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t - He wasn’t controlling me, making me do things, and if he had been, I sure as shit wouldn’t have been telling you I loved you and begging you to fuck me, okay, think about it, huh? I wanted you, I wanted _all_ of it. Still do.”

His eyes are blazing fiercely and his jaw clenches visibly once Bucky’s finished talking. He certainly doesn’t _smell_ like he’s lying, but the part of Steve’s that’s always been more or less a walking, talking guilt-complex wants to argue with him anyway.

He compromises with himself, asking for more detail, but trying not to make it sound like he doesn’t trust Bucky’s version of events. “What was it like, then? How did it...” He shrugs, hoping Bucky can fill in the rest on his own.

He scrubs his face with his hand for a couple seconds before answering. “It was... It was always worse when I shifted, you saw, he could communicate with me directly then, but when I was human it was more, I don’t know, just dark thoughts, I guess? Like he was preying on all my fears, feeding those worries, putting ideas in my head, not--I didn’t have to _listen_ to them, they were just there, messing me up, setting me constantly on edge. It sucked,” he summarizes with a wry chuckle.

Steve takes this in, just breathing through the various spikes and spirals of emotion that threaten to overwhelm him for a while. Then, he squeezes Bucky’s ankle again and asks, almost timidly, “But you... what happened with us? You wanted that, you still--”

Bucky breaks away from his touch, but Steve doesn’t have time to get worried before Bucky is launching himself at Steve’s mouth, kissing him and wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck as he straddles him clumsily. “I told you, everything that happened between us was real, and I wanted all of it. Only difference now is that I’m gonna want even more, so I hope you can handle that.”

Steve wants to laugh and kiss Bucky again and then do a lot more, wants things to be simple and easy between them, but there’s one more thing he needs to know, something that’s been nagging at him since Agent Romanoff first showed up and explained a few things to them. There’s been no good time to talk about it, but the way she looked at Bucky and said, “You didn’t tell him?” has been echoing in Steve’s mind ever since.

Steve steals one more kiss from Bucky’s lips for luck before asking, “Buck, why didn’t you tell me about Rumlow’s claim? I don’t mean the messing with your head, I get that you didn’t really understand what was happening to you, but you knew that as your maker and an alpha, he had at least some power over you, didn’t you?”

Bucky’s face shutters guiltily, but he nods.

“And you knew I’d have to fight him to challenge that claim?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, voice small, head bowed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky tucks his shoulders up protectively and says, “I was scared.”

“Of Rumlow?”

Bucky shakes his head, but doesn’t offer any other response until Steve settles his hands on either side of Bucky’s waist and presses, “Buck?”

Bucky purses his lips unhappily and sighs a few times before saying, “That was definitely part of it, sure. I was scared shitless of the idea of you fighting Rumlow, Steve. That wasn’t an act or anything. I knew he had a weird hold over me but I didn’t know you were all jacked up on newborn super-strength or some shit and would actually beat him. Wish someone had told me about that when _I_ was new,” he grimaces. “So yeah, I was scared you were going to fucking die, but for real this time.”

“But I didn’t,” Steve says, pride and reassurance both.

“No, you didn’t,” Bucky agrees, almost smiling for a second before his expression darkens again. “I was scared you were going to get hurt, couldn’t stand the thought of it being because of me, but I was also... I was afraid you’d... I don’t know, Steve, at first I thought maybe you wouldn’t want me if you knew how much trouble I was going to be. I figured I could just handle it, not shift much, get better at ignoring the feel of his presence at the back of my mind, just--” He shrugs. “Just get over it, fight it on my own, and then you’d never have to know.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, heart seizing in his chest. “You know that none of that is true, right? Now... now you know that, don’t you? I’d fight a thousand battles for you, you could never be too much work. I’d kill--”

“I know, I know,” Bucky says, plunging forward and kissing him again, messy and urgent and perfect, his tongue lapping at Steve’s half-parted lips until he relaxes into it enough to deepen the kiss.

Steve fingers are digging into Bucky’s sides enough to leave bruises, and the way he’s grinding down on Steve’s lap is rough enough to be painful too, but neither of them care. It feels good, and more than that it feels _necessary_ to touch each other like this. Steve’s hard but he doesn’t really want to do anything about it, just wants to keep kissing Bucky and holding onto him with all his strength.

Eventually, Bucky makes a series of soft, choked off whimpers into Steve’s mouth and he pulls back, damp heat starting to soak through his boxers and jeans.

“See?” Bucky says weakly, laughing at himself a little. “Still want you, still yours. That was all me, always was.”

He climbs off Steve and starts pulling off his pants, tossing the whole mess in the corner but not actually getting out of bed. Steve kisses him one more time and quickly goes to the bathroom, coming back with a wet cloth to clean the rest of Bucky’s come off his spread thighs.

Steve’s own hard-on is starting to flag, and he’s okay with that. Right now, he just wants to focus on Bucky.

“I love you, Buck,” he says, because he has to.

Bucky smiles, wobbly but not at the same time, half a smirk despite the vulnerability in the rest of his expression. “I know you do, I promise, I do know. You always did, and I should have been paying better attention. Not gonna happen again, okay? I promise that, too.”

“Okay, Bucky, me too,” Steve says, fully aware Bucky isn’t the only one who dropped the ball on the past five years or so of their friendship, at least in terms of how much better it could have been, if even one of them had been brave enough to try.

Bucky holds open his arms, and Steve takes the hint quickly, lying down beside him with his head pillowed on Bucky’s chest.

For a while they just lie there, breathing each other in, but just as Steve’s thoughts are starting to get sluggish from exhaustion, Bucky says, “One more thing, okay? No pressure, but... bonding? I want that, too. It was - I thought we couldn’t, with Rumlow still in my head, but it was never that I didn’t want it, or even that I was actually being smart enough to think we should wait. I was just scared.”

“But you’re not scared anymore?” Steve asks, and his heart feels like its doing somersaults this time.

“No,” Bucky says, voice warm and pleased. “I’m not. You can knot me right now for all I care, or at least think about doing it soon, please. I fucking love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve says again, but he’s too wrung out and emotionally raw for anything to actually happen between them tonight, and he suspects Bucky knows that, feels the same, despite what he just said. The spirit might be willing, but the flesh is another story.

Sure enough, Bucky just rumbles happily in response, resting his chin against Steve’s forehead and wrapping one arm around around his shoulders, heart beat slow and steady beneath Steve’s ear. Soon enough, they both drift to sleep.

***

In the morning - or more accurately, the afternoon - Steve wakes up to Bucky chanting his name and repeatedly hitting him in the chest.

“Steve,” thunk, “Steve,” thunk, thunk, “Steve, come on, man,” thunk, “Wake up! You’ve gotta see this!”

Blearily, Steve opens his eyes and blinks up at Bucky, bouncing and buzzing around the room so fast Steve can barely focus on him. “See what, Buck? You acting like a hyper kid in the mornings? Because I gotta tell you, that’s not new.”

Bucky just laughs, bottomless delight lighting up his face and making his scent tantalizing. “It’s gone, Steve, look,” he urges, dancing closer and baring his throat to Steve proudly.

He’s right - it’s bare, at least on the left side. The scar from when Rumlow bit him is gone.

Steve sits bolt upright and hugs Bucky fiercely, pulling him into bed and landing on his back with Bucky half on top of him. Bucky laughs again as they roll around the bed for a few seconds, giddy and kissing sloppily.

“Did it just happen?” Steve asks, when he can finally bear to stop kissing Bucky long enough to speak. “Was it still there last night?”

Bucky nods, and says, “Yeah, I think so, I mean, it was definitely there before we went to bed, I don’t know if it happened sometime during the night or early this morning, and I don’t really care, either, I just. God, I wanted his mark off me so fucking bad, but I didn’t think it’d actually... Even when you beat him, I still thought I’d always be stuck with the scar.”

“What do you think it means?” Steve asks, curiosity getting the better of him. “If it wasn’t my challenge that did it...?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, breezily unconcerned. “Fuck, maybe he’s dead. I definitely wouldn’t put it past Nat to take him out once we were out of danger.”

“Call her Agent Romanoff, it’s more respectful,” Steve says before he can help himself, nostrils flaring a little.

Bucky laughs at him. He’s been doing that so much since the forest. Steve hopes he never stops.

“Someone has a crush,” he teases, grinning at Steve.

“The only person I’ve got a crush on is you, Buck,” Steve disagrees, just on principle. It’s gonna be awhile before he’s ready to joke about stuff like that, especially knowing how torn up with fears and insecurities Bucky’s been all this time. “But it makes sense, I guess. Maybe he tried to get away, or she just always planned on killing him. Could be something else entirely, but all that matters is that it’s gone, right? That he is?”

Bucky nods, but then asks, “Would it bother you? If he was dead?”

Steve shakes his head, not having to think about it at all. “I guess maybe I wish she’d have let you do it yourself, if it was gonna happen either way, but that’s not - it’s better this way, I think. Not knowing for sure what happened to him, just knowing he’s gone. That’s good enough for me.”

“Me too,” Bucky says, his voice carrying a multitude of meanings, and he kisses Steve once, a quick graze of his lips, before he’s dragging Steve out of bed so they can get dressed and go downstairs.

Steve would just as soon stay in bed, possibly spend some quality time checking over the rest of Bucky’s body with his tongue, but it’s late enough in the afternoon now that his mom will be up, getting ready to go back to work, and none of the things Steve wants to do to Bucky are of a kind he’s comfortable with his mom overhearing. Besides, there’s something important he needs to pick up before he’ll feel right about trying to actually knot Bucky, and in the meantime, they might as well not start anything Steve won’t be ready to finish.

Soon though, real soon, he’ll be ready to ask, and the anticipation is sweet enough on its own to satisfy him for now, especially since he’s already certain of Bucky’s answer.

***

They go running together that night, shedding their clothes and slipping into their wolfskins under the waning moon. They’re alone in a wide open field, no people or really even other animals to speak of, because Bucky wanted to test things somewhere safe, to see how it felt to shift without Rumlow’s poisonous influence.

Steve just wanted to run. Wanted to run with Bucky now that he can actually keep up, going as fast and as far as he likes without getting out of breath or needing his inhaler. So that’s what he does.

They chase each other back and forth, racing and darting this way and that, playfully snapping their teeth and tiring themselves out in the open night air, August humidity dying down only a little in the crumpled dark. Bucky is enjoying himself, seems to be grinning despite his form, and Steve tears after him again and again, trusting now that Bucky will always let Steve catch him.

***

Steve goes shopping alone the next morning while Bucky sleeps in. His mom is home by the time he heads out, so he feels okay about leaving Bucky there, knowing it’s going to take a while for him to shake the sick feeling he gets whenever he’s away from Bucky, not being able tell for himself that he’s safe. But Rumlow is gone and his mom is the strongest person he knows, so Steve takes his time with his errand, wanting to get it right.

No one downtown recognizes him, but he gets over the surprise of that pretty quick. Their town is small, but small-minded in a lot of ways too, and maybe it’s not so strange that the familiar faces pass right over his, not recognizing the skinny art geek anywhere in the broad-shouldered alpha Steve’s become.

It works to his advantage, anyway, lessening his nerves about going into the back of the only jewelry store in town, asking to see their selection of collars. The one he finally chooses is thick black leather with a metal clasp that locks in the front and it comes with a key he’s told is typically worn on a chain around the alpha’s neck. Steve chooses a medium length cord for the necklace, made from the same leather as Bucky’s collar. It’s a fairly traditional choice, the salesperson informs him, but Steve doesn’t mind. He’s always been pretty old fashioned, and that’s never bothered Bucky about him before, so he doesn’t see why now would be any different. Besides, he really only wants the lock because it means he can wear the key, something visible showing on both of them, a sign to anyone who might be looking that they’re both taken. He doubts Bucky will have any objection to that.

He doesn’t bother to wrap it, just goes straight home and walks inside with the collar grasped tightly in his right hand. The necklace and key are tucked away safely in his pocket, ready to come out if Bucky says yes.

His mom finds him before he finds Bucky, takes one look at his hand, and says, “You’re eighteen years old.”

It’s more of a reminder than a warning, and Steve nods. “I know.”

“You’ve known him your whole life,” she says next, her tone measuring this time, weighing the importance of this moment and making sure Steve understands the gravity of it, too.

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve agrees, straightening his shoulders and standing to full height.

“He’s still family whether this works out or not,” and the warning is there now, where it wasn’t before.

“It’s going to work, mom, but yeah, I know that, too,” Steve answers promptly. He did know, but he breathes a little easier for hearing her say it. Bucky needs both of them, and Steve does too.

“Alright then, I give you my permission,” she says, starting to smile now.

Steve smiles back and says knowingly, “To ask, or to ask _him_?”

Her smile turns warm and approving, happy for her boys, and she says, “Both.”

***

After giving her blessing, Steve’s mom loudly announces that she’s going to the pool for a couple of hours to enjoy a nice long swim. She gives Steve a hug, holding on just a little tighter than she might normally, and then she’s grabbing her swim bag and heading out the door, leaving them alone.

Steve resumes his hunt for Bucky, and it turns out he’s still upstairs in Steve’s bedroom, right where Steve left him.

Steve says, “On your knees, Bucky,” as soon as he steps through the doorway.

Bucky’s down before he even has all the words out, but he doesn’t settle. Instead, he shifts back and forth, resting his weight on one knee at a time, and smirks up at Steve through his lashes, asking, “One knee, or two, baby?”

Steve flushes, just a little, and Bucky’s grin widens. “You’re not subtle, Steve,” he says, looking pointedly at the collar clutched in Steve’s hand.

Steve straightens his shoulders, and it’s a reminder to himself too when he says, “Not trying to be.”

At that, he strides over to Bucky confidently, and holds the collar out between them.

“Do you want this?” he asks, not the most romantic proposal in history, but it’ll have to do.

Bucky’s grin turns from smirking to blinding, so Steve figures he did okay. “Yes,” he says, straightforward and to the point, no extra words required.

Steve’s hands shake just a little as he puts the collar on, and he joins Bucky on his knees when he fastens the lock securely around Bucky’s neck. He’s close enough to watch Bucky’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, his face slackening a little, eyes losing some of their focus.

“I need your help,” Steve says, just sternly enough to recapture all of Bucky’s attention. “I have one too,” he explains when Bucky is looking at him clearly again, and digs into his pocket to take out the key and the leather cord it’s attached to.

“Christ,” Bucky says, swaying a little at the sight of it. “You’re gonna wear that?” he asks, licking his lips.

“Always,” Steve promises, placing the necklace and key in Bucky’s upturned palm.

His movements are excruciatingly slow and precise, Bucky’s hands steady as he slips the cord around Steve’s neck, tightly knotting the leather ends together at the back and then smoothing it out against his collarbone. His fingers wrap around the key, making a fist, and he reels Steve in like that, kissing him brokenly.

They both might be crying a little, but Steve’s not going to make a big deal out of that if Bucky isn’t. They basically just got werewolf-married. They’re allowed to cry a little, he figures.

Ignoring the dampness on both their cheeks, Steve keeps kissing Bucky, keeps kneeling in front of him, each of them holding onto the other by the leather around their necks.

When that’s no longer enough, Steve picks Bucky up and carries him to the bed, stripping him down with Bucky’s help and then doing the same himself. Bucky keeps the collar on, of course, and Steve lays him out on his stomach and kisses a trail down his back, wishing he could take the time to stop and draw Bucky like this, gorgeous and all Steve’s.

Bucky’s wet for him by the time Steve’s mouth reaches the swell of his ass, and he slides his tongue between the cheeks, licking Bucky open and getting hard himself from the smell of Bucky, his scent thick with arousal and joy.

Steve could stay down there for hours, possibly his entire life, but Bucky’s stuttering whines turn quickly from appreciative to frustrated and desperately needy, and Steve pulls back, kissing the small of his back and asking, “How do you want to do this, Buck?”

Bucky huffs a breathy little laugh into the pillow and says, “Pretty sure you’re supposed to be the one who decides that, babe.”

Steve smiles at the new endearment, but he frowns right after, because, fuck that. This is about both of them. He tells Bucky as much, and he laughs again.

“I don’t want to pick, that’s your job,” and there’s nothing but pleasure and the sweetest kind of anticipation in his voice, so Steve is willing to take Bucky at his word.

He thinks aloud, trying to decide. “I want to see you, your face, but we could be tied for awhile, if this works--”

“It’s gonna work,” Bucky interrupts, almost blissful in his amusement. “Steve, it’s _already_ working, you get me?”

Just in case Steve didn’t, the way Bucky lifts up his hips and basically shoves his ass into Steve’s face leaves little to the imagination.

Get the fuck on with it, Rogers.

“Okay, settle down,” Steve says, pressing Bucky back down against the mattress. When that doesn’t seem to work, he slaps Bucky’s ass, one solid smack of skin against skin.

Bucky says, “Shit,” and then squeezes his eyes shut harshly.

It takes a second for Steve to realize Bucky just came from Steve spanking him once. One fucking time.

He hits Bucky again, wondering if it’ll work twice, but Bucky just whimpers and tries to hide his face in the mattress.

“One time kind of deal, huh?” Steve asks, looking down at his own hand a little wonderingly.

“Let’s test that theory out later,” Bucky grounds out, face still mostly obscured. “Right now I just want you to fuck me.”

“I thought I got to decide?” Steve asks, playful and delighted that they both can be, even like this. Especially like this.

“Fucking _now_ , Steve,” is Bucky’s only response, and yeah.

Okay.

Steve can do that.

He _has_ done it, with extremely satisfying results for both parties. All he has to do differently this time is knot Bucky at the end and in so doing, cement their all-encompassing and eternal mating bond.

No big deal.

“Hey,” Bucky says, rolling onto his side and taking Steve’s face in his hands. All his impatience and bluster is gone, replaced by tenderness and a steadying warmth. He kisses Steve so softly it feels like another first, and then Bucky’s fingers graze the leather cord around Steve’s neck, twisting themselves up in it and kissing him again. “You’re gonna make me feel so good, Steve, so good I’m never going to let you go.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, tongue thick and slow in his mouth. He shakes himself out of it before Bucky can start to smirk, kissing him again, but taking control of it this time.

They keep kissing, and eventually Steve gets them into a position he hopes will be comfortable, even if the knot takes and they’re tied for a long time. He hopes they will be, wants to be connected with Bucky in body and soul for the rest of his life and quite possibly after that, if he can somehow manage it.

For now, this much is enough, lying together on their sides, Steve’s front pressed in close against Bucky’s back, his cock gradually replacing fingers and sliding into Bucky as slowly as he can stand.

He almost says, “Now what,” as a joke, but he’s too far gone to actually speak, so he just pushes deeper into Bucky instead, sucking against the nape of his neck.

The way they’re lying isn’t perfect for fucking, he can’t thrust as fast or hard as Bucky probably wants, but it’s good like this just the same - their position helping Steve to set an almost leisurely pace, the slow care of his movements reminding both of them that this is important, a moment to be protected, cherished. He can jerk Bucky off at the same time, too, lying on their sides like this, which is another plus, and Bucky’s come three more times before Steve starts to feel close.

His head is swimming, drowning in the heat and smell of Bucky, and his heart is threatening to burst from his rib cage. Steve feels like every part of him is trying to stage a revolt, as though his insides are attempting to somehow break free of his body and merge with Bucky’s, leaving their separate bodies behind.

He’s about to share that thought with Bucky, not caring about how sappy it is, but Bucky’s panting moans get the better of him, and Steve stays silent, fucking him and letting his right hand slide from Bucky’s cock to his neck, grabbing hold of the collar and tugging sharply on it, once, twice, and then a third time as Steve’s orgasm ripples through him like a tidal wave moving in slow motion.

Bucky gasps raggedly, more breath than words when he says, “I feel, Steve, I feel so _full_ ,” like it’s the best state of being anyone could possibly hope to achieve, voice shaky and so fucking _grateful_ Steve can barely stand it.

Steve stays locked into him, his knot forming just like Bucky said it would, no stopping it now, not with how much both of them want it. It’s a strange feeling, certainly unlike anything else Steve’s experienced, but good. So good.

Bucky can’t move, but neither can Steve, and that’s exactly how he wants it. The two of them knotted together, naked except for the signs around their necks, intertwining symbols that promise they’re taken, that they belong. To each other, and no one else, for better or worse. For always.

***

When they finally come untied, Steve can’t help but ask, “Did it work?”

Bucky thinks, _You’re an idiot, Steve,_ as loudly as he can over the bond, and Steve gets the words clearly along with a rush of exasperated affection and a lingering sense of pure, unassailable love.

Steve throws his head back and laughs. Out loud, he says, “You’re an asshole, Buck,” and through the bond, he lets every ounce of his own unwavering adoration show.

It’s not a secret, but Bucky smiles at him like it is anyway, shy and sweet, and then he pulls Steve in by the cord around his neck, and they start up all over again.

***

Over the next couple days, Steve and Bucky more or less move into Bucky’s apartment, mostly to save themselves the embarrassment of having Steve’s mom smirk at them whenever they drag themselves out of bed long enough to eat or relieve themselves. Steve doesn’t always knot Bucky, although it’s the thing they both like best. Steve thinks that’ll probably always be true, but in the interests of acquiring a full range of data, they fuck every way they can possibly think of, taking each other apart in turns. Steve’s blowjob skills improve in leaps and bounds as the days pass, and Bucky discovers he can make Steve come untouched just by eating him out.

Neither of them brings up New York, or any future plans at all, until the last week of summer. Technically, Steve’s still enrolled in the fine arts program at NYU, has a full-ride scholarship he worked damn hard for waiting there for him, but he finds he can’t imagine actually going. Not anymore.

He’s still trying to think of a way to bring it up that won’t end in disaster when Bucky confronts him about it first.

They’re lying in bed, naked and spent, and Bucky looks at him across their shared pillow and says, “You want to join up, don’t you?”

Steve rolls his eyes a little, amused. “Jeez, Buck, you make it sound like we’re talking about me joining the actual Army. I’m pretty sure the SSR is just Agent Romanoff and that Sam guy driving around in his van.”

Bucky laughs and says, “Well then I guess we’ll be doubling their workforce, won’t we?”

Steve blinks at him, just shy of stunned. He was expecting Bucky to be a way tougher sell that that. “You want that, really?”

Bucky shrugs. “It wasn’t exactly first on my list of dream jobs, but it beats the grocery store. It doesn’t mean I’m letting you give up on your art, either, you’re seriously talented, Steve, but... You’ve got this other thing now,” he waves at Steve’s general presence, large and effortlessly intimidating. “And I get it, you want to use your strength to help people, to do some good. Maybe save a few kids from going through what we did. I might not have alpha super-strength, but someone’s gotta watch your back out there, and it’s not like I trust anyone else to do it, so yeah. I wouldn’t mind tagging along.”

Steve’s heart starts beating faster, buoyed up by excitement and hope, but he can’t help double-checking Bucky’s motives, his comfort levels. “You don’t have to do this just because I want to. We can decide together what we should do, and it doesn’t have to be... just what I want, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, Stevie, I know,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss him while he’s still talking, the words getting garbled a little but his message coming across just fine.

Steve kisses back and holds on, his hands instinctively finding Bucky’s collar and stroking the skin underneath it with his fingers.

When they pull away, Steve can’t stop himself from saying, “And you’re definitely... I mean, you’re coming with me no matter what? I’m not going to hear any more talk about how I should move on without you, no pulling away like you did all senior year?” They might be able to blame a lot of Bucky’s actions on Rumlow, but that particular problem started long before him, and it’s an insecurity Steve hasn’t quite been able to shake.

“Nah, I’d say I’m pretty much over that,” Bucky drawls, tugging at his collar for emphasis.

Steve nods, steady and glad, and then asks, “It’s not just because of the bond, though, right? You believe me now that I always wanted this, always planned on taking you with me, wherever I decided to go?”

Bucky sends a wave of calm and reassurance to Steve through the bond, before saying out loud, “I’m not saying I won’t still have my moments, old habits and all, but yeah, Steve. I believe you. It’s hard not to when we’re like this, right?” He smiles, no secrets or artifice between them now, not with the bond and the length of their shared history.

Steve smiles back and Bucky keeps talking, encouraged, and maybe needing to finally get some of this off his chest.

“Things this summer only made it worse, you know, but a lot of how I was acting - pulling away from you like I did - was just my same bullshit as always, really. Rumlow definitely fed off of that, but it wasn’t anything new, me thinking you were too good for me, that I was dragging you down. It got worse as we got older but... deep down I never thought I was good enough for you, Steve. But,” he shakes his head, hands finding his collar again, fingers tightening around the locked buckle. “I guess I finally decided that I am if you say I am, end of story. I mean, you’re the one who gets to pick, right?”

“I pick you, Bucky,” Steve says, an instinctive response, although he’s especially happy to say it now that he knows it no longer needs to be said. Happy enough to add, “Every time,” his voice a little rough around the edges.

Bucky grins, cocky and sure, and says, “Yeah, you always were pretty stupid.”

Steve doesn’t bother to argue, taking the insult as his due and wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, roping him in against Steve’s chest. Bucky gives himself over to Steve’s handling with a pleased hum, and Steve can’t help tugging him just a little bit closer with a finger hooked under his collar so that he can kiss Bucky one last time before they finally let themselves go to sleep. Bucky smiles at him, tiredness coming on strong now that he’s cuddled against Steve, warm and secure. He starts to drift off almost immediately, but Steve soaks in the sight of him for a few more minutes before settling himself more comfortably against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling.

There’s a long crack running along the length of it, crooked and gaping a little in the middle. Steve’s hated this place since Bucky moved in, always wishing he’d finally accept one of Steve and his mom’s offers to live with them instead, but he kind of likes it now. The apartment has been good to him and Bucky these past few days, although maybe Steve can only think well of the place now that he knows for certain that he and Bucky will be leaving it together, making their own way in the big wide world.

It’s not as daunting a prospect as it probably should be, not when Steve knows he and Bucky will be facing it together. Still smiling up at the ceiling, Steve breathes in deeply, savoring the sleepy sweetness of Bucky’s scent, and closes his eyes.


End file.
